


soon enough you will be dancing at my funeral

by aradian_nights



Series: you flash a guarded look, my silver tongue returns to me [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Friendship, Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 14:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 77,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradian_nights/pseuds/aradian_nights
Summary: As a result of Crest experimentation, Claude discovers he is dying. He finds himself drawn to the only two people who can understand how he is feeling.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Claude von Riegan, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Lysithea von Ordelia, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan, Lysithea von Ordelia & Claude von Riegan
Series: you flash a guarded look, my silver tongue returns to me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552762
Comments: 55
Kudos: 319





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. so, yes, this is a weird branching off of another fic, but you do not need to read it to understand this one. feel free to read it, but it does not affect this one in any way beyond like, details about claude and edelgard getting kidnapped. basically they're kidnapped, they're on a boat together, they're saved by pirates. it's fun. this is a lot less fun. basically, i wanted to write what would happen if they were not saved. for those who DID read my other fic, this is not a sequel, and i don't want it to be read like one. i wrote it like i was writing a completely different fic. they just happen to have the same origin point.
> 
> this is pretty bleak. after i posted my last fic, i think a few people recognized me from my fea fic where i killed all the 2nd gen children, so it was a surprise that the last fic wasn't so. dark? this is definitely darker, and i don't believe i got too graphic with the descriptions but mind the tags. it's not pretty.
> 
> ALSO. i find those who slither in the dark to be confusing, and i probably got stuff wrong because i wrote..... 95% of this in between grad school readings and seminars. i know i've messed a few things up with edelgard's uncle, but i. don't care that much? enjoy!

In his dreams, he saw tall grass as far as the horizon. His hands drew over the blades, and they tickled his palms as he waded through an open sea of green. The wind kissed his face, and he thought he heard a song on the edge of the horizon, a lullaby that he knew well. He ran toward it, but every time his foot hit the ground, the earth sucked at his boots, until he was waist deep in mud.

"Mama," he gasped, his fingers slipping through the grass. "Mama, I'm _here_!"

But his mother never came.

When he woke up, there was a moment where the stone ceiling looked a bit like it could be startling blue ceramic tiles, a ring of imaginary sky glinting in his eyes. He could pretend, in this moment that he was lying in his room, cozy in his bed, and maybe his mother _would_ come.

But those were the fanciful dreams of a little boy.

There were no ceramic tiles on the ceiling, and there was no bed beneath him. He was lying on the stone floor, his head throbbing, and he could not place his surroundings. Yet he knew, deep in his heart, deep in his _gut_ that he was in trouble.

He remembered, vaguely, their boat. He remembered the circumstances that led to it all, standing in the courtyard with Edelgard, observing how the moonlight got caught in her hair with the amusement of a poet. He remembered feeling panicked and unsure when he realized they would not be able to fight off their assailants, and he remembered waking, sleeping, waking again, getting dragging away from Edelgard, and of course he remembered the pain.

Even now, his arm throbbed where those brigands had taken a knife to him.

It got hazy after that. He… remembered Edelgard being kind, which was frustrating. He didn't _want_ to like Edelgard, because he sensed that beyond her cordial smiles and pretty eyes there was something lethal, a knife in the dark, and Claude had enough experience with assassins to know when to be wary and when to be wild. With Edelgard, he could only be wary. She saw him as a threat, and he saw her as just the same, yet she'd helped him. She'd cleaned his wound, bandaged and rebandaged it, took the time and care to ration off strips of her cape… and still, he could not be sure about her.

Trust was not easy. Especially not within a cage.

But they'd been separated. Again. The first time, Claude had recognized that his own fault in the situation. He had goaded the brigands, and he had paid for it. Now, though, he felt absolutely lost about what was happening. The minute they'd pulled into port, there were bags over his and Edelgard's heads. In the dark, Claude had reached out, and for a moment he had felt her hand in his, cold, callused, and clinging.

That was the last thing he remembered.

Now he was here, in another cage, in another place, and he wondered if that was his fate. Cage after cage. Face after face. He was exhausted.

It was strange to be alone. He looked around his cell, and recognized that for the first time in a week, barring the incident where his arm had been cut open, Edelgard was not beside him.

Damn. Was he sad about that?

_No_ , he realized, examining the cool walls for a sign of a loose brick, a sharp rock, anything of use. _I'm worried. I'm worried about Edelgard._

Was she in a cell just like this, wondering about his fate as she fumbled along in the dark? She would leave him if she escaped, he had no doubt. He could not blame her for that. It only seemed rational.

He hated himself a bit, when he realized he would most certainly risk it all and search for her if he managed to escape this cell.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was a fool.

The sound of keys jostling outside his door had him sliding to the floor in anticipation. Whoever had them now, it was best that he looked weak and unassuming. When the door swung open, light flashed before his eyes and blinded him momentarily. He heard a woman laughing at his very real discomfort, and he blinked through the light as he was dragged to his feet.

"Hey there, handsome," the woman cooed. She looked… very strange, like a street performer who had wandered into an execution block. Her white face was stark in the dim light, and her odd make up made Claude tilt his head curiously.

"Hey," he said casually, feeling tense and nauseous. "Are you here to kill me?"

The woman's eyes seemed to shine, as though she was a predator in the dark. She laughed at him again.

"Not yet," she purred, her fingers hooking beneath his chin and drawing his face up so she could get a better look at him. "It would be a shame, wouldn't it? To waste such a… _valuable_ specimen."

He swallowed hard, suppressing a shudder as he smiled up at her bitterly.

"Well," he said hoarsely, "that's a relief. It'd be… terribly embarrassing if I got taken out by a killer clown."

Her nails scraped the underside of his chin like claws, and he bit his tongue to swallow a hiss.

"Don't get too excited," the woman said in a dull voice. "I've seen men much bigger than you reduced to pleading children when faced with their fate."

"Well perhaps I am not like other men," Claude countered, his mouth dry.

"Oho!" She danced away from him, her cackle rattling in his ears. "Shall we test that out?"

He did not remember how he got to the next room, but the next thing he knew he was immobile and dazed, his back pressed to a cool steel table. There were fastenings around his wrists, metal and cloth, and around his ankles too. A belt had been strapped across his chest, pinning him to the table.

"Why don't you count backwards from one hundred?" a worming voice murmured in his ear.

He did not want to, but he tried to anyway.

"One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seve—"

Helpless, vicious screams drowned out his counting. He did not quite recognize his own voice.

* * *

Edelgard thought that she could be called very many things. Ambitious, withdrawn, pragmatic, and calm. Paranoid, devious, cruel, and sad. She knew she could not be insulted, if only because she felt that she had probably thought of the insult first and accepted it long ago. If she was ever to be called a beast, then a beast she would become.

She had no qualms becoming a monster in someone else's story if that meant she could achieve her goals.

Yet she thought, if she was anything, it was not gullible.

When her uncle had told her, miles away from Enbarr, that they were returning to the monastery, she felt like she had missed something crucial. She'd woken up in a carriage, when she did not recall falling asleep. The last thing she had known was the boat, and the uneasy rocking of the floor beneath her. The soft, heavy breaths of Claude nearby, a comfort in the dark. Because his heavy breathing meant he was alive, and if he was alive, then she was not alone.

Now, she did not know where Claude was.

The question had fallen from her lips in a way that made her feel small and childish, like a girl calling for her mother. Her brother. Her father. She could not explain what her uncle's look had done to her, but at the sharp glance of Lord Arundel, Edelgard swallowed her concern for Claude and sulked.

"If it need concern you," her uncle said coolly, "the boy's grandfather was contacted. He should be on his way to the Alliance by now."

Edelgard bit her tongue. Her questions, she supposed, would be answered at a later date. She did not believe that her uncle would tell her as much as Claude could.

At first, she believed her uncle.

After all, the brigands had been hired by _her_. Arundel's involvement was tertiary, if nothing else. Yet as they journeyed from Enbarr to Garreg Mach, her suspicion grew stronger. The fact that she had not seen Claude before she had woken in a carriage did not exactly help. She felt confused and a little anxious that her uncle was attempt to trick her. The only thing that kept her silent and calm was the idea that she was nearly at Garreg Mach, and she would be able to speak to Hubert about all this.

Obviously outwardly objecting would get her nowhere. She did not want to seem like she cared about Claude, not in front of her uncle, so she kept herself disinterested and poised throughout their journey. And of course, she didn't particularly _like_ Claude. But being stuck with him for a week had certainly been… illuminating.

At some point during her journey, she convinced herself that she was wrong. That she had to be wrong, and that Claude was, in fact, fine. He was in the Alliance somewhere. He was safe with his grandfather. It made sense, didn't it?

The walls of Garreg Mach were pitiless as they met her eyes and seemed to shake with laughter. She returned, the disgraced daughter of blood and flame, and she came empty-handed.

If she were the praying sort, she might pray that she would step out of this carriage, and Claude would be there smirking at her with an open hand. His forearm, cut open by brigands, would be healed. His drawn, pallid, sickly face would be brown and healthy once more.

And then she could hate him again, and feel utterly guiltless.

A nameless, faceless knight offered his hand when the carriage door opened for her. She shot him a cold glance, not particularly interested in feigned chivalry at the moment, and she stepped down briskly before brushing past the knight as though he were not even there.

Her heels, which were small, black, and sturdy, clicked against the uneven cobblestone. Obviously her uniform had been soiled on their journey, so Arundel had bought her a new dress in Varley. It was a deep crimson frock, a bit shapeless as it fell to her knees. It was a dress for a child, with a rounded white collar and bell sleeves. She could not bring herself to mind it much.

For whatever reason, her uncle had parted with her before her arrival at the monastery. He'd mentioned something about his own holdfast, and warned her about keeping her intentions close to her heart before leaving her.

She could not concern herself with her uncle. Not when she had so many other things to deal with.

When she was not met immediately by Rhea, Edelgard felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps need not worry about some interrogation. If Rhea did not see anything concerning about Edelgard's disappearance, then maybe she could just go on like it had never happened.

She had gotten perhaps a hundred yards into the monastery when she was greeted by the stark face and dull eyes of Byleth. Edelgard's heart stuttered a bit, and she jerked to a stop.

"Edelgard," Byleth said. Her voice was strangely forlorn, and not quite as withdrawn as usual.

"Professor," Edelgard replied, hoping she sounded poised and collected despite the hum in her chest.

Byleth's gaze was empty, but her jaw was tight, and her brow was pinched, and she opened her mouth to speak, but there was a clear moment in her expression where she reconsidered, and she snapped her jaw shut. Beside her was Seteth, who seemed to wear a perpetual frown as he studied Edelgard. She was not sure if his gaze was one of disapproval or discouragement. Hanneman and Manuela stood farther off, with Hanneman looking curious and Manuela merely looking unsure. As though she was torn between looking concerned and looking relieved.

"Goodness," Seteth murmured, his brow furrowing as he gazed at her. Edelgard glanced at him, and she wondered what it was about her that had already set him off.

"Hello, Seteth," Edelgard said politely. "I do hope that my disappearance has not troubled anyone."

"Troubled us?" Manuela pressed her hand to her heart and nearly doubled over. "Honestly, what do you take us for? Monsters? We've been worried sick!"

Edelgard bit back an unkind remark, and she peered at the four adults with a frown. Hanneman nodded, Byleth stared, and Seteth seemed to slump a bit.

"Manuela is," Seteth said, clearly suppressing a grimace, "correct on that front. We have all been anxiously awaiting your return."

"You have?" Edelgard couldn't help the surprised comment as it slipped from her mouth. It felt incredulous and strange, and she felt their stares acutely as she wondered how truthful they were being.

"Why wouldn't we?" Byleth asked, her gaze boring into Edelgard's with the kind of vacancy of a white hanging sign outside an inn.

Why indeed. She chewed on her lower lip, and she looked away sharply.

"Thank you," she said tightly, "for your concern, but I am… quite alright."

"My dear girl," Seteth said softly, "you do not need to put on a brave face for us."

Her gaze flew to Seteth's face, and she searched in uncertainly. It was strange to actually pay attention to the man, to look into his tired eyes and see sincerity glowing there. There was warmth in his voice that she had never heard before. He seemed, strangely, to be the most visibly distraught out of the four individuals before her.

Part of her hated him for that.

"It's not a brave face," she said firmly.

Seteth's eyes only seemed to soften more. It seemed as though he was not quite listening to a word she said.

"There, there," he said gently. "You need not lie. Your uncle told us the ordeal you went through, and though we all understand that you feel the need to be self-sufficient, it is alright if you feel weary."

"My uncle…?" Edelgard had to think about all the conversations she and Volkhard had had on their way to Garreg Mach, but she was sure she'd remember him mention being in contact with _Seteth_ of all people.

"We understand," Seteth said quickly, "that you might not wish to talk about it, but any information you have on your captors may help us uncover Claude's whereabouts."

"Claude…?" Edelgard felt suddenly, inexplicably nauseated. She thought about her uncle, about how suspicious she'd been of him, especially when she had mentioned Claude. She felt unbelievably foolish, and on top of that, _guilty_.

Had part of her not already known that something was wrong? She had held her tongue when given the chance to object, and that silence would haunt her.

Seteth's expression only seemed to fall.

"I expect that means that you don't know," he said.

"I…" Edelgard pressed her lips together, and she sucked in a harsh breath. It seemed suddenly difficult to breathe. "I do not. I'm sorry. I don't remember what happened. One moment I was with Claude, on a boat, and the next…"

"I understand." Seteth nodded to her curtly. She stiffened when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

_Stop being nice to me_ , she thought numbly. _Stop it. Stop pretending to care. Please, just… please. Please. Be a bad person. Be a terrible, awful, disgusting individual, and don't be kind. Seteth, be a monster, please, just for me. Just be a monster so I can hate you._

But Seteth released her when he realized she was uncomfortable, and he edged her forward without touching her again, which made it all the worse.

There was no way that she could ask questions about Claude without alerting anyone to the fact that her uncle had lied to her, and if they knew that, then he would immediately become a suspect, which… was not something she was entirely enthused about. She suspected him, of course, but if anyone looked too deeply into Volkhard Arundel's dealings, they'd find her own bloody handprints coinciding with his.

Byleth did not follow them to the infirmary, and Edelgard did not expect her to, but her eyes did follow the woman as she hung back. There was nothing in her gaze, and Edelgard could not find it in herself to be disappointed.

Perhaps the only person she could be disappointed in, at this point, was herself.

The thing was, as guilty as she felt, she truly had no idea where Claude was. For all she knew, he could be dead.

That thought made her beyond anxious. She had spent a sleepless night keeping the boy awake, a wordless pact between them that if he could brave the night then he'd survive, and the thought that he was somehow dead anyway made her feel… helpless.

Her walk to the infirmary was strangely silent. No students wandered the halls, no knights kept vigil, and she wondered if they'd all been barred from seeing her. Even inside the infirmary seemed deserted, and she went through the motions of being checked by the monastery nurse with little enthusiasm and even less defiance. She did not have energy to spare. Her exhaustion overwhelmed her, and though Seteth and Byleth remained close by, she felt alone here.

More than anything, she felt alone, and it was a familiar, haunting feeling. Like an old dread that had seeped into her skin, an old rot, an old infection that she could not shake.

"Well," the nurse said, "you are malnourished, a bit dehydrated, but all in all, I'd say you fared this trial rather well, Lady Edelgard."

Her mouth felt dry as she smiled weakly in gratitude. Her tongue felt heavy under the weight of the words she could not say. That her own foolishness had thrown her into this mess, and Claude had paid the price of it with his blood.

After all was said and done, Edelgard dodged the gaze of Seteth, and turned her eyes to Byleth. Her blank, unblinking stare was far preferable to the pity of Seteth.

"I believe I am very tired," she said. "Must I sleep here, or will you allow me to walk to the dormitories?"

Seteth's lips twisted into a grimace, but Byleth seemed undeterred. Her head tipped to one side, and Edelgard wondered if she could smell the guilt on her.

"You are not hurt," she observed, "yet…"

Edelgard felt like her bones had been dipped in an icy stream. She bit her tongue. If she could numb herself, she would put her heart on ice and leave it to grow stiff and unyielding.

"Yet?" Edelgard demanded, her voice thin and cool.

Byleth blinked. She shrugged.

"You don't seem like yourself," she said.

"Give the girl a break," Seteth murmured to Byleth. "Would you at your best if you had just survived such an ordeal?"

"Yes."

She could practically see Seteth's jaw grinding as he glared down at Byleth.

"I am fine," Edelgard said curtly. "I'm… merely tired, is all."

"We understand," Seteth told her gently. "If there is anything you need—"

"You should not be afraid to speak," Byleth said cryptically.

Both Seteth and Edelgard looked at Byleth with wide, bemused eyes. Without another word, without even a twinge of emotion in her smooth, pretty face, Byleth whirled away and walked out the door.

"What," Seteth gasped, exasperated, "did she mean by that?"

"I don't know," Edelgard whispered.

She felt like Byleth had taken her by the throat and throttled her.

* * *

The Black Eagles greeted her without much fanfare. Linhardt was nowhere to be found, likely asleep somewhere, and Bernadetta was reluctant to come out of her room even to welcome Edelgard back, but Hubert, Ferdinand, Petra, Dorothea, and Caspar remained. Petra and Caspar were entirely enthusiastic, beaming at her with delight. Ferdinand and Dorothea hung back when Petra and Caspar ran to her, and though Dorothea smiled and Ferdinand nodded curtly, there was something in their gaze that suggested that they were wary of her return.

It made sense that they might suspect something off. They had a similar sense of loyalty in that they were, undoubtedly, pledged to her, yet their minds moved at a pace that she could not control. Their wills were entirely their own, and at times, they did doubt her.

Hubert looked impassive. To anyone else, his expression might seem cold.

Yet she saw the glimmer of relief in his eye when he gazed upon her.

Perhaps that was enough. For now, this small gift was enough.

Later, when she and Hubert were alone, he leaned against her door and stared down at her while she combed her hair.

"I'd thank the goddess for your return," he said dryly, "but I'd fear she might strike me down out of spite."

She bit back a genuine laugh. Her smile was harder to mask, and he met it with a small smile of his own.

"I am beyond relieved," he said, "that you are here, and you are safe."

"I suppose it was a rather tenuous week and a half?" she asked curiously.

"I would say it is still tenuous." Hubert glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. "You know they will whisper about your involvement in this because you came back alone."

"Let them."

"It is not a reputation that you need at the moment, Lady Edelgard," Hubert murmured. "I am not keen on felling assassination plots from our Deer neighbors, at least not when we sleep so close to them."

"I recognize that." Edelgard's comb fell smoothly though her hair. "I am prepared to face the consequences."

"Do you truly understand what those consequences are?" Hubert demanded.

She shot him a cool look, and he jerked back, his mouth clamping shut.

"I understand quite well," she said. "After all, I was with Claude for most of that time."

Hubert's visible eye narrowed, and he pushed off the door with a sharp, quick stride.

"What happened?" he whispered fiercely, lowering himself to his knees so that they were eyelevel. Only, she could not hold his gaze, and she turned away. "You will not say, and I feel… responsible for not being there."

"What would that have done?" she murmured.

"Perhaps it would have saved you both!" Hubert's gaze flickered over her face, and he sucked in a deep breath. "I can see that you do not share my optimism, but I was under the impression that you did not wish for Riegan's death quite yet."

"You'd be correct," she said bitterly.

"And yet," he said, "he is still missing, and you are here. You understand how problematic it is if that fact makes even _me_ nervous."

It was suspicious, and she knew it. She blamed her uncle. Yet she could not publicly do so, and that frustrated her. Her uncle had made her an unwitting accomplice to… was this a _second_ kidnapping of Claude? She could not be certain.

"People will suspect me," she said dully. "I cannot blame them."

"Do you care to inform me what actually happened?" Hubert asked. "Or will you simply leave me living in suspense?"

After spending a few days with her uncle, and before that a week with Claude, a part of her had forgotten how candid she could be with Hubert. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, and she shook her head.

"I _am_ at fault for our kidnapping," she admitted. "My miscalculation got Claude into this mess. The men who kidnapped us were employed by the Flame Emperor at one time, and I… had given them an order to kill the lords, at the beginning of the school year."

"I remember this," Hubert said quietly.

"Yes," Edelgard sighed, "well, I messed up. And now Claude's paying for it."

"And now he is…?"

"I can't be sure." Edelgard grimaced. "I should be relieved, shouldn't I? If he's gone, is that not better for me?"

"It is."

"Yet…" Edelgard could not say it. It seemed like a secret she needed to keep close to her heart, something that she could scarcely think, let alone say.

But Hubert sensed it anyway.

"Did you grow to care for him?" he demanded.

"No," she said.

"No?"

" _No._ " Edelgard wrung her hands in her lap. "I… feel guilty, is all."

Hubert's brow furrowed. He turned his face away, and she thought that her guilt might eat them both alive in that moment.

"If he never returns," Hubert said, "you will find it is a good thing. You will realize that in time."

"I realize it now," she said, raising her eyes to his coolly. "That does not assuage my guilt, Hubert. It does not make my heart feel any lighter."

He opened his mouth, and she felt a strange twinge of irritation.

"That does not mean," she cut in hurriedly, "that I am not prepared to face the consequences of my actions. I know _well_ that my path is one paved with blood, and that blood will often come from innocent people like Claude."

"You think _Claude_ is innocent?" Hubert's eyes flashed momentarily wide, and Edelgard had to pause to think on it. She thought of his fear that first night, and how he could recite memorized fables to keep his mind awake and at ease so he did not have to fear falling asleep.

"I think so," she said. "Yes."

Hubert exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly unhappy with her, and she wondered if she actually cared. It would be unbelievably cruel of her to dismiss Claude's innocence when he had suffered for her mistake. Even if they did not see eye to eye, Claude had still been… kind, really, regardless of the situation that had transpired.

She wondered if it even mattered anymore.

* * *

It had been a long week and a half.

The fact that she was neglecting her studies had almost slipped her mind, since most of her waking hours were still spent in the library pouring over books and scrolls and schematics. She often arrived early, with the sun like a cracked egg on the horizon, and left frightfully late, with the moon high overhead. Her fingers were black by the time she ended her day, from too much page-flipping and note-taking.

Things would be a lot smoother if she did not have to deal with Linhardt, but she was grateful to Ashe for being a good conversationalist and distracting Linhardt while she worked.

She was rather embarrassed to admit that she was wearing a bit thin with this investigation. Her brain was growing scattered, her temper was getting the better of her, and she could not seem to wrangle in her emotions. The previous day, she had even cried in front of Dimitri! It was difficult to reconcile her heavy heart with her rushing brain. Nothing seemed to fit together, and she was scared, and she was tired, and more than anything she just wanted to know that Claude was okay.

"If I may say so," the irrationally tender, polite voice of Dimitri rustled her out of her thoughts, "you seem better today."

She thought perhaps he was only saying so because she was eating her potatoes rather than turning them over on her fork.

"I suppose so," she said.

His smile made her relax a bit. It was a bit sheepish, but mostly she could tell he was truly trying to be friendly. Honestly, she did not understand how anyone could think he'd be the mastermind of this awful plot. Dimitri was a simple man, and if he meant to kill anyone, Lysithea did not doubt that he would not beat around the concept and merely pick up a knife before going straight for the jugular. It seemed so obvious.

She had yet to speak to Hilda about this issue, and if she was honest with herself, she did not _want_ to.

"May I sit down?" Dimitri asked.

"If you want." Lysithea had been reading an old tome about wayward doorways and cursed alcoves. Part of her wished that maybe Claude had gotten lost in a portal to another world, but she doubted it.

"I have some…" Dimitri swallowed hard. His smile was tight. "It is not bad news, but I do not think it will please you, either."

"Lovely." Lysithea sniffed. She set her fork down, and she looked up at him expectantly. "Well, I am in a good a mood as any to hear this. Tell me."

Dimitri studied her, and she sensed pity in his gaze, which was irritating. He made good points, but she knew he still saw her as a child that needed to be coddled. He was like Claude in that way.

"Apparently Rhea received word a few days ago that Edelgard has been recovered." Dimitri paused to watch her face, and when she did not respond by any measure, he sighed. "She arrived not too long ago."

"And Claude?" she demanded.

"I don't know."

Lysithea bit back a cruel remark about Dimitri's intelligence, and instead rolled her eyes and dragged her teeth up her tongue to keep herself from cursing Dimitri's eyes into soup.

"Listen," Dimitri said urgently, reaching over the table and grasping her hand. This surprised her, and she shot him a cool look. "I know this does not look good, but when I said I wanted both Edelgard and Claude safe, I meant it. I won't rest until we get him back too."

If nothing else, this did soothe her a bit.

"Has Edelgard said anything?" she asked, knowing in her heart that it was foolish to hope. Especially if the girl had returned without Claude.

She was not a fool, nor was she a wishful child. The fact that Edelgard was here and Claude was not was enough to convince her that her worst fears had been realized. If she had not cried so much the night before, she might have burst into tears right then and there, but she composed herself hastily.

"I haven't spoken to her yet…" Dimitri glanced down at his hands. He seemed visibly distraught. "I was told by Byleth that she'd returned, but I believe she needs some time alone right now."

"I suppose I can understand that," Lysithea said. She could not help but be suspicious, however. After all, why would Edelgard return safely while Claude was still missing? She knew she had to hear what Edelgard had to say before she jumped to conclusions, but she found it difficult not to immediately suspect foul play. "This probably means that your worries about Hubert murdering you in your sleep are over."

"Maybe," Dimitri said with a small, nervous smile. "Though I would not be quick to assume."

That made her smile. _Simple,_ she thought _, but not totally inept. He's smart enough to fear Hubert's wrath regardless of a reason to._

It was strange to admit that she liked Dimitri, and thought him rather sweet and kind. A week and a half ago, if Dimitri had spoken to her, she would have chided him for interrupting her when she is clearly busy. Now, she was not sure.

Kindness often came from unexpected places. She had to recognize that perhaps she was too harsh, and perhaps she needed to be better, do better, in order to feel better. Lysithea appreciated that Dimitri was kind to her, and she appreciated that he made an effort not to be demeaning. Still, she felt like she was losing a battle with time, and with each day that passed another layer was peeled off her patience.

Perhaps she was harsh, but then, how else would anyone around her know to leave her alone?

Niceties, she felt, were suited for those who had long lives to look forward to. They would be harsh and blunt when they were ninety, and all their years were spent, and then _they_ would feel they hadn't the time to play nice.

It seemed a waste to continue researching things that probably would not bring Claude back, so after Dimitri left her, she returned to the dormitories with a determined sort of zeal. If she could not research Claude back into their lives, then she would prod at Edelgard until Lysithea was either satisfied or dead.

She heard voices from the other side of the door, but Lysithea was not a coward, nor was she easily deterred when her mind was made up, so she rapped twice on the door with the backs of her knuckles, and she waited.

She waited, thinking that if Edelgard was guilty, the amount of dark spells that Lysithea had at her disposal seemed limitless. Of course she was no stranger to killing using magic, but Lysithea would hex Edelgard to the moon and back for her transgressions. If she was, indeed, guilty. Lysithea imagined all her hair falling out in clumps, her skin growing moss, her teeth loosening and cracking when she ate even the smoothest of jellies or the softest of cakes, her eyeballs growing too large for her skull before popping all together.

Lysithea could make the girl quite miserable. If she was guilty.

The door opened enough that she caught the piercing eye of Hubert, and when he sneered, she slipped closer so her foot was wedged between the door and the doorframe.

"Excuse me," she said, bracing herself with her fingers against the doorframe, "but I have a question for Edelgard."

" _Lady_ Edelgard is very tired," Hubert snapped at her, "and has no energy to deal with the infernal squeaking of mice."

The word _mice_ seemed to strike Lysithea's brain like an arrowhead, and she hissed low and harsh like a cat. The urge to simply curse Hubert was unbearable in that moment, but she knew he was a skilled sorcerer, and whatever magic she summoned would bounce back at her if she was not careful.

"Yet she keeps a pet rat just fine," Lysithea snapped, pushing forward with all her strength so quickly that Hubert was too shocked to withstand the brunt of her weight, and she shoved into the door and forced the knob into Hubert's stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him. When his guard was down, she slipped into the room, quick as the devil, and she dodged his outstretched hand when he snatched at her.

"Hubert," Edelgard said in a stiff, warning tone.

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert objected, whirling to face her. "This girl—"

"Is perfectly within her right to come speak to me," Edelgard said. "Perhaps it is _you_ who should leave us. If you please?"

Hubert made a noise like a growl, and he and Lysithea glowered at one another without moving. He stooped over her, and for a moment she thought they would be in an all-out duel. Then, with a short nod to Edelgard and one last disdainful glower at Lysithea, Hubert left the room.

When she was certain he was gone, she turned to Edelgard. She was surprised to see her hair down, no ribbons to be seen, and she wore a red frock that did not seem to suit her as it shifted about her knees while she moved. Her face was… worn, and sickly pale, not to mention thin. She looked tired.

"I…" Lysithea gathered her courage, and she straightened up. "I believe you know why I've come."

"I can take a guess."

"Then you understand," Lysithea pushed, "how your reappearance looks."

Edelgard's jaw tightened visibly. She tilted her head at Lysithea, and she frowned.

"Enlighten me," she said coldly.

That, of course, made Lysithea furious. She opened her mouth, but in her rage, her voice seemed stuck inside her throat. She blinked rapidly, and for a moment she could only see red because her anger overcame her.

Then, with a short sigh, Edelgard lowered herself into the chair at her desk and shook her head.

"I know," she said quietly. "I… apologize, Lysithea. I know what it looks like, and I apologize for that too."

"So you know you look guilty," Lysithea snapped, his voice shrill even to her own ears, "and yet— and yet—!"

"And yet I sit here," Edelgard said, looking into Lysithea's eyes, "before you, asking you to forgive me. Because I do feel responsible. I do. I feel like I owe it to you, and to… the rest of your house, I suppose, because I truly thought…" There was something strange and distant about Edelgard, and her voice wavered a bit.

"Perhaps it would be prudent if you explained to me what happened to Claude," Lysithea said. "We can work our way from there."

"If I knew," Edelgard said, her voice once more cool and calm and collected, "I would tell you. However, I am still trying to sort that out for myself."

"Were you not kidnapped together?" she demanded.

"We were."

"And yet," Lysithea huffed, "here you are. And where is he?"

Edelgard's eyes shifted away sharply.

"And yet," she echoed softly.

"And yet," Lysithea mocked her. "And yet, and yet. Well! _I_ am not going to sit around idly and ponder over the things I could have done for Claude if I had been a little stronger. Perhaps that works for you, and I pity you if so, but I am not like you, and I do not give in easily."

"He may very well be dead," Edelgard warned her. "Have you thought of that?"

"Of course." Lysithea was angry. She was so angry, in fact, that she was deadly calm now, and she leveled her gaze with Edelgard so that they stared at one another like they would both cease to be if they tore their gaze away. "I cannot save him if he's already dead, but I can still find him. I can still bring him home. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't think so."

"Well," Lysithea said, "perhaps you should have done more when you were with him. Or did you wish him dead?"

Edelgard's eyes narrowed. "I—"

"No," Lysithea said, shaking her head. "Don't answer that. I've decided I do not care."

Edelgard did not gape at her, but Lysithea had a feeling the girl was shocked by the state of her eyes. She was very good at hiding it, though.

"What is it that you want from me?" Edelgard asked tiredly.

"I want Claude back," Lysithea said, folding her arms across her chest. "Though clearly that is not very realistic, and you could hardly give him to me. I thought you may have some answers, but of course you don't, so I've wasted my time."

Edelgard looked down at her hands, breaking eye contact with a frown, and Lysithea thought that she was glad to see Edelgard look so sad. She was glad, because this girl's sadness meant that something Lysithea said had hit her, and maybe she might crack and admit to something, anything, about what had happened to Claude.

But Edelgard said nothing, and Lysithea let out a small scoff.

"Fine," she said, whirling away. "Keep it all close to your heart, then. If you even have a heart, that is."

She did not bother waiting for a response before she flung the door open and marched off. Hubert was hanging close to the door, and she did not look him in the eye as she fled, for her eyes were burning with unshed, angry tears.

* * *

Underneath the fox pelt, which was exotic and white and warmer than the sun, he saw the man's face carved out by candlelight. He knew he should be sleeping, and his brain felt heavy, but he saw the lines on the man's forehead, and he saw the way his teeth gnawed on his quill. Everything seemed to be cast in yellow light and that which was not was hazy and black. He felt like he was swimming in the open inkwell on the man's desk.

"A boy should not spy on his father," the man said. His voice was smooth, and it rolled off his tongue like distant thunder rumbling.

_Baba is the summer storm_ , Claude had always thought _, and Mama is the springtime frost._

He could never classify himself in that way. It seemed hard to imagine himself in the same abstract way, aligning his brittle little bones with nature.

"Sorry…" Claude mumbled into the white pelt. He was not to move. After all, the sickness had gone, but his body was still weak.

His father rose from his desk, and the shadows seemed to shudder at his height. The marble floor quivered at his footsteps, which clapped heavily even when he treaded lightly. He wore slippers. Claude remembered this. He remembered.

His father wore slippers, and when Claude was sick, or sad, or scared, then his father would take him to his study and bundle him with fox furs.

And he'd say:

"My brave little fox. Could you trouble your soft heart for an old man like me, and allow me a song?"

Sometimes… not in this instance, but sometimes, he would say:

"My sly little fox. What has your soft heart done for you now? Could you trouble yourself for a moment, perhaps, and lend me a song?"

But those days grew rarer, and Claude had grown older, and there was no room any longer under the soft white fox furs for his long limbs.

"Baba…" Claude could not move. "Baba, am I dying?"

His father knelt. His face was a shadow, and Claude was struck with terror at the thought that he might not remember his father's face.

His voice was distant thunder.

His voice was distant thunder, and it rumbled when he spoke, and the whole room shook, and the world bowed beneath the weight of his voice.

But what did he _sound_ like?

"Baba," Claude gasped. "Baba, can you hear me?"

His father's hand reached out but Claude could not reach for him.

What did his father's hand feel like? Was it big and all encompassing? Was it warm, was it callused, was it scarred?

" _Baba_ ," Claude choked, tears welling in his eyes. "Please, I can't… I can't…"

He blinked once to clear his vision, yet when he opened his eyes, his father was gone.

The candle shuddered under the vicious wind.

That wind struck him awake, and the conscious thought that he was awake struck him more than the fact that he was… it seemed like he was cocooned, really, by blankets and pillows and he thought that was strange. He could not remember when he'd fallen asleep, but his dormitory certainly was not this cozy. He often fell asleep in a nest of books.

And he could not move. That was a certainty.

He thought he might be dead. Stuck inside his body still, but dead all the same. He thought it was a good thing he had always been so skeptical on religion, if his soul was still stuck inside his body after all that had happened.

And then the things that had happened came back, piece by piece, and Claude lurched onto his side, half his body sliding to the floor, and he convulsed as vomit tore from his throat and spilt onto the plum carpet.

He was not sure how long he spent vomiting, but by the end of it his mouth was dry and he still could not move, so he stayed in this painful position with his body half hanging from a bed while his brain collapsed in on itself.

It hadn't happened, had it? It wasn't real. He was just sick. He was sick, and very tired, and it had all been a horrible dream.

He was tired because he was sick. He could not move because he was sick. He ached all over because he was sick.

It had all been a dream. He could hardly remember it all, anyway, and it was already fading.

A bad dream.

Someone found him like this, on the floor, cheek to cheek with his own vomit, and he was quickly pulled from his bed, stripped, and carefully carried to a porcelain tub. Whispers followed him, trailing like spiderwebs from his ears, and he found himself shivering. The tremors came in waves, and he could not control the way his knees spasmed or his shoulders buckled.

Soon he was lying in a bed of ice, and he did not know when or how that had happened.

He spent too long shivering, and thinking, and his thoughts were spun of venom and lies, and he wondered where the truth had gone.

If he looked into his own head, would he be frightened? Would the nightmare start again from the start?

A thousand years later, he was in his bed again. The carpet was gone. He was dressed in white silk, and it chafed against his skin. He wanted to rip off everything and run into the night, disappear, and become a statue for the wind to kiss and wear away until he was nothing but dust.

After a while, he could lift his hands, and he pushed back his sleeves and peered at the bruises and bandages on his arms in wonder. There were blanks in his mind, and he wondered if there was an explanation for the darkened welts, the centers strange and sickly yellow, and the edges starkly inflamed and red from popped blood vessels. He prodded the bruises curiously, and found himself hissing in pain.

There were cuts on one of his arms, but they were sewn closed beneath a bandage. One looked like it had been healing for a bit, and when he looked at it, he thought of snow. Snow statues and maddened artists. A beautiful work of art. Lay a kiss upon her snowy head, and she comes to life.

Edelgard. He tried to say it, when a woman walked in, but the name was stuck in his throat, and the sound he made was strangled.

"Do not try to speak," the woman said, her pretty face lined with age and her pallid pink eyes heavy with sorrow. "It will only make things worse."

Claude thought that was the worst thing anyone could say to him right now. He didn't just want to speak now. He wanted to scream.

The woman had a round face, and as she approached him, he saw a thick coating of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her high cheekbones were carved out due to her age, but she was still very petite in all her features. She did not hesitate to sit upon the corner of Claude's bed, her burgundy skirts settling around her. Her hair was a slightly lighter shade of red than her dress, but only just a shade. There was a shock of gray that framed her cheek, while the rest of her dark hair was pooled into three elegant buns at the base of her neck.

"You may find words will come hard to you," the woman said softly. "It will be a trial at first, for you to remember how to speak. Reading might also be difficult. Walking too. I would not recommend running for any length of time, and exercises should be limited to regaining motor in your arms and legs."

He opened his mouth, attempting to ask her what she even meant by that, but just as she said, the words did not come.

Panic flooded him, and he listened to his voice crack through his mouth, a painful whine slicing through his teeth.

"None of that," the woman said, laying a gentle hand on his chin and tipping his jaw up. His teeth clicked together as his mouth shut. "I told you, did I not? You won't be speaking any time soon. Just… breathe, will you? Be thankful you are alive, now, whatever the cost of that."

_What does that mean?_ Claude thought dazedly. _What cost? Why can't I… I know what I want to say, but I can't find the words. Why can't I speak?_

"I imagine you are having trouble processing this," the woman said with a small, sad smile. "Fear not. I think I may have some answers for you."

Claude stared at her expectantly. If he could find the words, he might say something rather sarcastic. Maybe it was for the best that he had lost his voice.

"You have been here for about two days," she said. "You were brought here after a traveling merchant found you abandoned in a ditch on the border. Ordelia was the closest settlement, so you were brought here."

"Ordelia," he blurted, his voice like a porcelain vase shattering. It hurt, and every syllable scratched at his esophagus viciously. Yet he could not help but speak. The name sent him spiraling as he reached out and snatched the woman's wrist, desperate and afraid, and he searched her face. Her eyes, he realized. Her eyes. "You— you— you are—"

"Hush," Lysithea's mother murmured, patting his hand gently. "Yes, I am Leda von Ordelia. I believe you know my daughter, Lysithea?"

"Y-yes," he stammered, feeling relieved at the sound of his garbled voice, even if it hurt to speak.

Leda smiled, and she looked somehow even sadder now. She nodded, giving his hand a tight squeeze before releasing him.

"When we saw you," she said, "we knew at once who you must be. After all, you are of the right age, and the entirety of the Alliance has been rather up in arms about your disappearance."

Claude managed a nod. His disappearance. His kidnapping. With Edelgard. He and Edelgard had been kidnapped. Yes, this was something he remembered.

"Edel—" He felt like his tongue was too big for his mouth. "Edel—"

"Lady Edelgard?" Leda looked puzzled. Moreover, she looked down at her hands, troubled and unsure. "Yes, what about her?"

"Is…" Claude had never strained so much to speak in his whole life. He had to think over the words he wanted, but even that was hard. "Is she… safe?"

Leda's eyes flew to his, and she looked momentarily astonished before she nodded quickly.

"Oh," she said. "Yes, she— well, I was told she returned to the monastery earlier in the week. Do you remember… anything at all, Claude?"

There was a flash of recollection, a light, a flicker in his brain, and a strange ringing laugh that sizzled within him like acid in his bloodstream. He thought he might vomit again.

He shook his head fiercely, unable to find the word _no_ amongst the strange tatters of his memories.

"Alright," Leda said gently, "alright, there's no need to get upset. Now, now, don't try and speak, it will only frustrate you more. Edelgard von Hresvelg is safe and sound, does that make you feel better?"

It did, but at the same time, it did not. Part of him could not help but wonder _how_ she was safe and sound. He had been so worried for her, and yet nothing had happened. He was no fool. How could she have gotten out of this?

_This_ , he thought wildly. _This. This, meaning…? The woman, the voices, the screaming, the— the things that they did, the—_

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, and Leda's hand was on his spasming back as he gagged and heaved. There was nothing in his stomach but bile, and still he managed to cough up whatever was left inside him. Like he was dispelling all his bad dreams onto the floor.

Maybe then he would feel better, and he would feel safe, and he would feel clean.

Leda sat beside him until he was done. She took him by the cheek, and he stared into her face dazedly as she wiped his mouth gingerly with the crimson silk of her sleeve.

"I understand," she murmured. "It hurts, doesn't it? I wish I could do more for you. But truly, I am so happy that you are alive. You lived, Claude. Perhaps it will not be for long, but you lived, and that _matters_."

Her words were not the comfort she seemed to think they were.

He had to play it back inside his head, as if he were memorizing a song on a lute, and he blinked up at Leda dazedly.

"What?" he croaked. "What… do you mean? Not for…?"

Leda's pale pink eyes flashed wide, and there was a moment where he saw her horror laid bare for him.

And just like that, the reality crushed him.

He felt nothing in that moment, not even the pain, because none of it mattered. Nothing _mattered_.

It was real. The nightmare was real, and those things had happened, and he was a bowl of half-rotten fruit pushing its expiration date.

" _He's lived,_ " he heard some stranger's voice in his ear, " _but if he lasts the year, I will be surprised._ "

" _Good. Let the Alliance have their precious heir, and let them taste the futility of power before the boy turns to ash in their hands._ "

All the while, he heard his own short breaths, and he could not see, he could not think, for there was something lodged inside his brain that needed to be torn out.

"You haven't a clue what they've done to you," Leda was whispering. "You poor, poor boy…"

Claude shook his head. He shook his head, because he could not find the words to express his anger, to say that he could not possibly be dying, to say that he had _plans_.

_A year,_ he thought. _Am I to die that soon? Is all that I've worked towards to this point lost to me?_

"Your blood has been mixed with the blood of another," Leda told him. "You now have two Crests."

"That—" He wanted to say that she was telling him something impossible. How could she know, anyway? But his words escaped him, and he was almost relieved for that. Because when he searched within himself, he knew she was telling the truth, and that was the pressure that he felt so absolutely.

He was cold and he was feverish and his body could hardly stand it.

"I know," Leda said delicately.

"How?" Claude managed to choke out. " _How_?"

"How…?"

"How," Claude gasped, "do you _know_?"

It seemed easy to question things, and easier still to imagine that none of this was real, but Claude was not stupid. Claude had already accepted the reality of the situation, and though _death_ seemed like such an abstract thing, the idea that he might be dying did not feel real, and the fact of it rattled deep inside him.

Claude was dying. He was dying, and nothing meant anything anymore.

But Leda seemed undeterred, and worse than that, she seemed _sure._ How could she know these things when Claude himself, who had lived through them, had no idea?

Without a word, Leda stood. She crossed the room to a lonely vanity, plucked up an ivory-backed hand mirror and returned to Claude. The mirror was pressed close to her chest, and Claude saw that the back of it was trimmed with freshwater pearls, and at its center was a large amethyst.

"I'm sorry, Claude," Leda said softly.

She offered out the mirror, and Claude took it without hesitation.

The boy in the mirror was gaunt. His cheekbones were jutting out, and the sallow skin of his face was strange and sickly yellow. If he had ever had healthy brown skin, the very life had been sapped from it, and all that remained was the rotten yellow undertone. The puffy skin beneath his eye was both inflamed and sunken, and behind those mauve wrinkles, his green eyes looked swampy and dazed. This was not why Leda had given him the mirror, however.

His fingers moved before he could truly think, and he tugged on a strand of shockingly white hair in disbelief. It was limp and dull, and it fell onto his forehead lifelessly.

"Oh," he murmured.

His hair was white. It was white, like—

The suddenness of it all, the strange and horrible shock that came with looking into Leda's eyes, which were the same striking pink as Lysithea's, and realizing exactly _why_ and _how_ made him want to vomit again.

"No," he said desperately. He didn't want this. It was bad enough that this was _his_ fate, but for Lysithea to suffer too? It was not fair. "No. Please… it's a—" He swallowed hard and he snatched Leda's hand. "A _lie_ , isn't it? Tell me. Tell me it is. Lysithea…"

Leda looked down at him pityingly. She was Lysithea's mother. How could she be pitying _Claude_? It did not seem fair. And all this time, Claude had not known a thing.

Had Lysithea even tried to tell him? Surely he had known she was easily worn out, but that she had gone through _this_? That she was dying?

"Lysithea lives her life to the fullest," Leda said gently. "I suggest you try and do the same, young man."

Live. Live? Like that was simple? When, if his memory served, he only had a year to do so?

Even when he'd thought he had a long life ahead of him, it felt like he never had the time to achieve his goals.

How do you stuff eighty years into one?

The truth, he knew, was that he couldn't.

He could only live simply and hope that someone else might shoulder his dream after he was gone.

* * *

Edelgard was living with Claude's ghost, and that confused her. The thought that this boy could have shaken her this badly was irritating enough, but to be distracted from her goals, to constantly be hounded by her own guilt… it was overwhelming. Perhaps if she had intentionally set Claude up for death, she would not feel this way. Because as guilty as she might feel for killing him, she would have little remorse for doing something so bold so successfully.

But instead she had watched Claude's cleverness, watched his fear, watched him and watched him until she had felt strangely attached to him. And now he was gone.

Or at least, that is what she'd thought.

Dorothea was waiting for her later that week, sitting at her desk and toying with a red hairpiece that Edelgard seldom wore. She glanced up when Edelgard shut the door carefully behind her.

"This is a surprise," Edelgard said tentatively. "You've been avoiding me."

"Avoiding," Dorothea said with a sniff. "Such a harsh word! I've merely been evaluating you."

"So much better," Edelgard remarked, smiling thinly. Even when Dorothea was being difficult, Edelgard still enjoyed her company. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Dorothea's smile was radiant, but her eyes told another story. It was clear enough that Dorothea, as loyal as she was, was not dumb, and she suspected Edelgard had a hand in Claude's disappearance. The fact that Dorothea had not disavowed Edelgard entirely gave her some hope for the future.

"I was playing snake charmer this afternoon," Dorothea said, tossing her thick, glossy hair over her shoulder, "and the snake told me the strangest thing."

"By snake," Edelgard said amusedly, "I suspect you mean Sylvain?"

"More like Syl-pain in my ass," Dorothea said with a roll of her eyes. "But yes, unfortunately, I had the displeasure of having dinner with him tonight."

"Willingly?" Edelgard asked, surprised.

"You were busy," Dorothea said innocently.

"I was here the entire time. You could have knocked."

"Perhaps I _was_ avoiding you." Dorothea turned the red ornament, a ruby-encrusted comb, between her fingers. "However, if I have information that may affect you, I'd hardly keep it to myself."

Edelgard frowned, knowing she was relatively grateful, but still pained at the idea that Dorothea was reluctant to be around her. Still, she could only expect so much from Dorothea, who was still a good person, and probably had difficulty abiding by the idea of Edelgard possibly assassinating her rival through dubious means.

Dorothea stood up, smoothing out her skirt as her heels clicked against the hardwood floor, over the carpet, and closed the distance between herself and Edelgard.

"Claude's been found," Dorothea said delicately. Edelgard's eyes flashed wide, and she searched Dorothea's face for a hint of a lie, but she looked completely genuine. She reached out and pushed the loose hair that framed Edelgard's left cheek behind her ear, and she slid the jewel-encrusted comb through it to pin it in place. "House Ordelia is sheltering him until he heals. I believe Lysithea is leaving tomorrow morning to help ease his transition."

These words rung inside Edelgard's head to the point that she was no longer looking at Dorothea, and instead looking somewhere beyond her. Even when her thumb dragged across Edelgard's cheek affectionately, Edelgard was consumed by the thought of Claude von Riegan, alive and well by some wild miracle.

"Perhaps you might catch her before she leaves?" Dorothea winked at her. Then, without another word, Dorothea brushed past her and stepped out the door.

She could not be certain how long she stood there. She leaned back against her door, thinking very hard about how her uncle had manipulated this. It had been almost a certainty to her that Claude would be dead. So how had he escaped?

Pushing off the door, she tore the comb from her hair, ripped out her bows, and tossed them violently onto the desk. She paced her room, dragging her fingers through her hair, her mind playing back Claude's stupid voice in her brain.

_I don't think you'd worry so much about if I die here, you know,_ his voice murmured, _if you were really heartless._

Damn Claude. Damn his heart and damn his mind.

She slid onto the floor, dragging her head down to her knees, and she imagined him as he'd been on the floor of that ship. Tired and dazed, yet still retaining his good humor. His eyes flitting toward her, a smile, a laugh, even through the pain. She wanted to sit down beside him again, to wrap his wounds, to _explain_. She had never meant for him to get hurt like this. If she'd wanted him dead, she would have killed him herself.

_My hubris got him here,_ she thought, _maybe my empathy can get him out._

In a split second decision, which she was sure to regret later, Edelgard rushed to her wardrobe and flung it open. She grabbed a single knapsack and stuffed whatever her hands found. A white blouse, high waisted black trousers, a man's doublet, a spare cotton skirt made of deep crimson fabric, a black linen shirt, and various undergarments. Soon her room was in disarray.

A knock at her door broke her from her hyper-focused packing. She spat out her hair, which had somehow gotten into her mouth, and she marched up to the door, half feral and _very_ annoyed, and she flung it open.

She expected Hubert. Her brain had been working on a clever speech to assuage his fears and anxieties since the moment she'd decided to pack, and she opened her mouth to begin, only to find herself blinking up into the astonished blue eyes of Dimitri.

"I—" He jerked away, probably taken aback by her bedraggled appearance. Edelgard, who still looked rather ill from her time as a prisoner, stood with her hair half in her face, her eyes wild, and her mouth gaping. "Are you alright, Edelgard?"

"Peachy," she said, blowing her hair out of her eyes. "Was there something you needed, Dimitri? I'm rather busy at the moment."

That remark made him snort softly, his eyes flitting away from her face as if she had just said the most amusing thing.

"What?" she demanded.

"What?" he echoed, looking down at her in alarm.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked.

"Oh." Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck. "You just— sorry. You remind me of a… friend, is all."

If Edelgard were a meaner person, she would remark what a wonder it was that he had friends at all.

"Okay," she said. "Was that all?"

"No." Dimitri shook his head. "I just wanted to speak to you, since we haven't really talked… since… you know."

"Since I was kidnapped and held prisoner and subsequently returned," Edelgard said dryly, "and we are all pretending like it did not happen?"

"Precisely."

"Well," Edelgard said, "hello to you. But as I said, I'm busy, so—"

Dimitri took this moment to peer behind her into the mess of her room.

"Are you running away?" he blurted, sounding entirely too excited by the prospect.

"No!" Edelgard scowled up at him, and she shoved him back. She managed to make him stumble. "Why are you here, Dimitri?"

"I told you—"

"If all you want is to talk," Edelgard hissed, "you could have done this any time before now. I have not been making myself scarce."

Dimitri stared at her like he had a lifetime of things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed to form on his lips. Instead, he nodded.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I apologize. I came to return this to you."

And from seemingly nowhere, Dimitri produced a familiar dagger. Its onyx hilt looked too small in his hands.

"Thank you," Edelgard said stiffly, reaching for the small knife and blinking when Dimitri pulled it up over her head. Her eyes flashed to his dangerously. " _Really_ , Dimitri?"

"Tell me the truth," Dimitri demanded, looking less sure than his voice would imply. "Where are you going?"

Edelgard glowered up at him. The trouble was, she knew the dagger would be useful. She'd been caught by surprise once, and she did not intend to ever be captured again. Death seemed more reasonable in her mind. So she eyed the dagger, wishing that Dimitri would, for once in his life, leave her alone.

"I'll be back," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "I just… I need to see someone. I do not think I can rest until my mind is at peace, and only one person can put my mind at ease."

"And who is that?"

"Is that your business?" Edelgard asked him in a sharp, cold voice. "No, do not answer that. You might have deluded yourself into thinking you are entitled to my personal feelings."

Dimitri looked truly hurt, and she found she did not care.

"El—" he began, leaning forward in a desperate attempt to grow closer to her.

_El,_ a little boy's voice laughed in her ear, _El, that_ _ **tickles**_. _Come on, stop!_

She froze, her mind sifting through strange wisps of things, lemon-yellow hair and secret smiles and fields of flowers under the midday sun. Dreams she had forgotten, floating irregularly to the surface of her brain, old and worn and tarnished. They did not fit together anymore, as age and foreign poison had tarnished them, and as hard as she tried, when she searched for that voice again, it was nothing but a muffled chime under a rushing waterfall. If she dipped her hands into the water to grasp at the faded memory of the little boy, she could pick it up, she could look at it, and she saw nothing but a featureless pink blob with lemon-yellow streaks for hair.

The fear of losing all she knew, all she was, to the poisoned river of time, made her want to scream.

"Go _away_ , Dimitri," she gasped, tears prickling her eyes as she stepped back into her room and slammed the door in his face.

Her heart hammered against her ribs desperately. Perhaps it wanted to reach out and meet the dagger in Dimitri's hand.

She pressed her back to the door, pressing her hand to her chest and feeling the unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat. Why did she feel like this? Why had Dimitri made her feel like this?

If she focused very hard, if she allowed herself back into that place where little El resided, weak and broken and afraid, perhaps she would recognize it.

But she did not want to go to that place. Not now.

So she packed all those thoughts and memories away, whatever had resurfaced, and she tossed them back to the river as an offering.

_Take this,_ she thought. _Take it away. Just don't take me with you. Leave me this way, even if you are leaving me empty, even if you've washed everything out of me that has ever made me_ _ **me**_ _, leave me to this emptiness and take all that I have with you._

Edelgard dashed the tears from her cheeks, startled by the intensity of their tracks, and she lifted her head high as she pushed off the door and continued packing.

When she was done, she changed into a pair of high-waisted black trousers that tucked into her boots, and she buttoned her blouse all the way up her neck. She smoothed her hair back into a simple, elegant ponytail, tying it off with a purple ribbon, and she stared at her reflection for a moment. Her pale hair framed her face, and yet those memories she had boxed away reminded her of the fact that it had not always been this color.

She shook her head, grabbed her knapsack, and tossed it onto her back. Then she went to the door, swung it open, and nearly stepped on the onyx-hilted dagger sitting at her doorstep.

For a moment, she could only stare.

_Fool_ , she thought to Dimitri, wherever he was, as she stooped down to scoop up the blade. She sheathed it in her boot before closing her door and locking it.

It did not take long to get to her destination. She knocked twice with the back of her knuckles, and she waited. Her thumbs hooked beneath the straps of her knapsack as she stared at the wooden door, feeling jittery and foolish for her jitters. When the door swung open, she raised her chin high, and the girl before her blinked up at her with dull surprise.

"I should ask you the meaning of this visit," Lysithea said, holding her elbows as she frowned, "but I find that I am not entirely interested in what you have to say."

"Are you still angry with me?" Edelgard asked, not quite shocked, but a little annoyed. "Clearly I haven't killed Claude."

"So you've heard, then." Lysithea rolled her eyes. "Is that why you're here? Why you're dressed like that?"

"I want to come with you."

Lysithea's eyes were pale pink, and they were as round and sharp as a cat's in the dead of night. Those eyes raked over Edelgard's face, assessing her very muscles for a sign of a fib. Those eyes narrowed.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because," Edelgard said, feeling desperate, "I need to see him."

"You _need_ to see him?" Lysithea looked up at her incredulously. "You were the last person _to_ see him, and you are acting as though you two are great friends."

"We aren't." Edelgard was sure of that, at least. "I just… I know how responsible I feel in this situation. I don't like that I was rescued and he…"

"Wasn't?" Lysithea's voice was cutting. She saw right through Edelgard. "No one else is going with me, you know. Not even the professor."

"Byleth—?" That shocked her. She couldn't even mask that shock, and Lysithea sniffed it out like blood.

"You must know she cares about him." Her gaze flickered up and down Edelgard, raking over her pale hair to the toes of her boots. "Can you claim to care about him more than the professor?"

That seemed simple. She knew her own heart, and she knew her own motivations, and she knew that she could not compete with Byleth.

It was always Claude she'd been jealous of, anyway.

As strange as it seemed, at the moment she wished she could be in Byleth's place. At the very least it would save her some scrutiny.

"No," she said quietly. "I cannot."

"Yet," Lysithea said, "you want to come with me."

"Yes."

" _Why_?"

"Because I need to _know_!" Edelgard felt so close to crying, and she couldn't stand to look weak in front of this girl. It was not as though she knew Lysithea. But she felt it deep inside her, the need to fall to her knees and scream. "I have no idea what's happened to him, but my brain has been spinning the worst possible nightmares because— because I left him behind, somehow. Even if I don't remember it, I left him."

"What do you mean?" Lysithea's brow furrowed. "Even if you don't remember…? Didn't your uncle—"

"My uncle says a lot of things," Edelgard said coolly. "It does not mean they are true."

That did it. Edelgard could sense the alarm, even if Lysithea's face did not change much in reaction to her words. She let her arms drop to her sides, and she tilted her head curiously.

"Explain," she said.

Edelgard knew she had made a misstep, and calculated her next move swiftly and unflinchingly.

"I wish I could," she said, emphasizing her very real bitterness toward her uncle. "Unfortunately, he does not divulge the inner workings of his brain to anyone— not even me. I cannot tell you what he's done, but I can tell you not to trust him for a minute."

_There, Uncle_ , she thought stubbornly. _Reap the rewards of your cruelty. Perhaps that will teach you not to trick me again_.

Lysithea, of course, was not entirely convinced. She frowned up at Edelgard, her brow pinched, but now she looked more unsure than anything else.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" she demanded.

"Without proof?" Edelgard scoffed. "Without a body? I truly have no idea what happened to Claude, Lysithea, I am telling you the truth. I suspect my uncle may have played a part in it, but he is still my uncle, and if any accusations started flying, he would turn his eyes to me. And mind you, he is not a man I particularly wish to have as my enemy. At the moment."

"At the moment," Lysithea echoed. Her eyes narrowed, clearly zoning in on Edelgard's culpability in the matter.

For a minute, Edelgard thought she would need to find her own way to Ordelia.

Luckily, Lysithea was very intelligent. She saw past Edelgard's culpability, which clearly angered her, and saw right into the heart of the matter— Edelgard, as dangerous as she was, could be a valuable ally.

_Ally_ , she thought, feeling dazed and giddy and mad. _I am throwing my lot in with the fawns, and hoping they do not sniff me out for the predator I am._

"If you truly wish to see Claude," Lysithea said slowly, "I will allow you to come with me."

Edelgard released a sharp breath, blinking at her own overwhelming relief.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I—"

"I have one condition."

That did not surprise Edelgard in the least. She had honestly been anticipating it.

"Tell me," she sighed.

Lysithea did not miss a beat.

"Don't just be an observer," she said. "If you want to see Claude, you must promise me you will _help_ him. I don't know what we are going to walk into, but if my parents' letter is any indication, Claude is healing from whatever happened to him. If you care about him at all, you will do _everything_ in your power to make sure that he heals properly."

It occurred to Edelgard that she could fib on a promise. Yet the instant the thought passed her mind, she felt sickened by her own vindictive spirit, and she drew a sharp breath.

"Yes," she said, shocking herself. "Fine. I understand. I promise I will help Claude."

"I will hold you to that."

"I will make a blood oath with you," Edelgard said fiercely, "if you doubt my conviction."

That made Lysithea's pale eyes flash wide. The corners of her lips quirked upward.

"Well," she said, "that is not quite necessary. But I will certainly hex you if you go back on your word."

"I understand."

"Then I will see you in the morning." Lysithea eyed her knapsack with a small smile. "Perhaps get some sleep. It's a long journey."

Edelgard did not get any sleep that night. She went to the library and wrote a series of letters. The first was to her Uncle, in case he came looking for her. The second was to Byleth, explaining her motivation for going with Lysithea. The third was to Hubert.

She spent a long time on that letter. Her candle was a pool of wax by the time she signed her name with a quick scribble, the ink blotting from the amount of pressure she put on the page, and she sealed each paper with the red pooling candle wax. Then, with a signet ring, she pressed upon the wax the Hresvelg seal.

By the time she finished arranging her letters, it was daybreak. She slid them beneath Dorothea's door, along with a personal note to the girl that was not sealed and not formally signed. Instead of her signature, the name at the bottom of the note was small and printed. _Edie_.

She knew she would be back, but she did not know if Dorothea would like the person who returned. The only person she could count on to remain by her side was Hubert. And he would hate her, in part, in the depths of his heart, for her treachery to her own ideals. She hated herself a bit for it.

Yet her guilt overcame her pride. She was in its thralls, and there was no escape.

Lysithea was waiting for her in the courtyard. Her hair was up, which surprised Edelgard, and her uniform had been replaced by a modest high-collared frock that was reminiscent of the color of cherry blossoms. Her traveling cape was light, and it was a much deeper hue than her dress. It ended at her elbows and was clasped with a silver broach.

"You look very pretty, Lysithea," Edelgard said conversationally.

"You look as though you haven't slept at all," Lysithea said coolly, brushing past Edelgard and allowing her cape to flutter in the morning breeze. The bright white sunlight, which could only crisp up lines and flood saturation into every part of the world around them, seemed to glitter off Lysithea's hair like it was snow.

It seemed to occur to Edelgard for the first time Lysithea's hair was lighter than hers.

They walked in relative silence, aside from the bustling sounds of the market setting up, and their own footsteps.

"Nobody knows you're coming," Lysithea said finally, when they caught sight of the carriage. "Not my parents, not the Professor… I told no one."

"Probably a wise decision," Edelgard admitted.

"Is it?" Lysithea's brow knitted together as their door was opened for them. "I'm not so sure."

Edelgard offered out her hand to help Lysithea into the carriage, and Lysithea eyed it, scoffed, and pulled herself up into it. For a moment, Edelgard's hand dangled in the air, and she shrugged it off. She sat across from the girl, studying her face, the way she had neatly pulled hair hair away from her cheeks and twisted it into a thick knot at the base of her neck. She looked… not quite like nobility, but not like a peasant either. There was something very soft and natural about her face, as though she was a nymph poking her head from a wood.

"Why _did_ you allow me to come?" Edelgard asked after a few strange and awkward hours of silence. Lysithea had taken out a book almost immediately. Edelgard, who had spent her entire night in the library, had not thought to do so.

"You seemed desperate." Lysithea turned a page lazily. "It was sad to watch."

"I am sure many of your companions are also desperate to see Claude," she said. "Hilda, for instance."

"Hilda needs to stay at the monastery." Lysithea did not elaborate on that. It did not sound like an opinion, but rather a fact. If Edelgard were to place money on who had said this first, it would not be Lysithea or Hilda. It was certainly Byleth who had decided this.

"And the Professor?" she asked.

Lysithea sighed deeply, clearly annoyed at all the questions.

"What about her?" she asked snippily.

"Is she not desperate to see Claude?"

For the first time in a while, that familiar stab of jealousy hit her. She thought about Byleth's pretty face, the strange ocean of her eyes, the way she tipped her head.

And yet, she realized, she was _glad_ Byleth had not come. Even if that meant spending time with her.

So what was she jealous of, anyway?

"The Professor has to keep everything and everyone in line." Lysithea shook her head. "She told me to retrieve Claude. That was all."

"That's it?"

"Nothing more," Lysithea said bitterly, "nothing less. She was worried, don't mistake me, but…"

"She is rather callous," Edelgard murmured.

" _You_ seemed more concerned about Claude's well-being," Lysithea spat, "and you're— well, _you_."

"Thank you."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Unfortunately," Edelgard sighed, "I am well aware of how I come across to others. It hardly surprises me anymore, when people take me as… icy, I suppose."

"That's why," Lysithea said, turning her gaze back to her book. "If you are still wondering."

"What?"

"That's why I allowed you to come." Lysithea's eyes fluttered upward for just a moment, and they both stared at each other with something akin to curiosity passing between them. "I have never seen you shake that façade of yours before. Perhaps I got a glimpse of the real Edelgard, and I am not keen on letting her slip away just yet."

"If there is a real Edelgard," she replied, "that girl died long ago."

"All the more reason to hold on to her," Lysithea sniffed, " _I_ think. No, can you _please_ shut up?"

Edelgard did, in fact, shut up. She fell asleep not long after, and she dreamed of her sisters playing in the stream. One fell in, and when Edelgard reached down and plucked her from the depths, her sister's hair had turned to a shock of white, and when she turned her round face to her, her eyes were like an owl's and as pink as cherry blossoms.

* * *

The best thing to happen to him since waking up that first day was taking a few steps. It had been difficult, and he had slept for hours afterward, but he had done it. And the next day, he had walked a few steps more. By the third day, he was using a cane to move from his bed to the toilet and back.

His words were coming back too, just as slowly, just as painfully, but they were returning. He was thankful for that, almost more than his legs.

Leda came every day. After the fourth day, she had him change into a pair of black trousers and a pale purple shirt, and she hooked her arm with his and led him around the castle. His cane clicked against the tile, and his knees wobbled, but he walked with his head held high, and when Leda told him stories, he smiled down at her.

He did not think it was a real smile, but it was hard to tell what a real smile felt like.

"You look better today," Leda said, peering at him. "You held your toast down."

"I think my appetite is… returning," he said, all too eager to please this woman. The blocks in his language were still there, so he had to speak very slowly, and think between words at times. "Perhaps I can eat a— a roasted bird next. I can imagine the feast now."

Leda laughed at him. She had a pretty laugh, and he was glad to hear it. After all, she looked so sad all the time.

If Claude was going to die soon, he hoped he could make as many people laugh as possible.

"I will take your request to the chef," she said, guiding him along the edge of a duck pond. A white billed coot honked nearby, and Claude watched it wade closer. A swan nearly barreled into him, and Leda had to pull him away. "Try not to look them in the eyes. They can get rather mean."

"I can see that," Claude said, eyeing the swan boldly. What would it do? Kill him? He had to laugh. He was once more pulled away, and he found himself hobbling through hedges and dodging hanging red flowers that he struggled to identify off the top of his head.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Leda murmured, after she had released him and allowed him to stand by himself, leaning against his crutch and bringing down the flowers to sniff them, "but my husband… he's received a letter from Duke Riegan."

Claude held the deep, rich red flower in his hands, his nose pressed to its soft petals. It was a dahlia, he realized.

"Claude?"

"Hm?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Oh," he said, "yes."

"And…" Leda frowned at him. "Are you not… troubled by this?"

"I don't…" Claude sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, and he hid it behind a smile. "I don't particularly… care what my grandfather thinks of me. Especially not now."

"Claude…" Leda sighed. "He's requested to see you. I believe it is in your best interest to go to—"

"May I stay out here?" Claude looked up at Leda brightly. "I would like to write some poetry, if you wouldn't mind."

"I think it would be best," Leda said gently, "if you wrote poetry from your room."

"But the fresh air is so good for my health!" Claude objected. "Look— look, I may even be able to dance soon."

He lifted his cane off the ground to prove it, and his left knee nearly gave out. It was a jarring feeling.

"Claude," Leda said tiredly.

And just like that, guilt flooded him. This woman was so endlessly kind to him. She had probably saved his life. And he repaid this kindness by trying to talk his way into getting what he wanted. It did sting a bit when he realized his slowed speech and sort of stammer was to his detriment.

"I'm… sorry." He offered out his arm, and Leda took it. She pressed her hand to his back and guided him through the path and to the manor.

When they returned, he was quickly put to bed despite very much objecting. Yet he was… very tired. He found himself sleeping half the day away, and when he woke he sat in bed for hours without realizing it. By the time he sat up, it was night.

He thought that he was losing his mind when there was a knock at his door, and he realized he had just been sitting there in the dark. He had to fumble to light a match on his bedside.

"Claude?" Leda called. "I have… guests. Would you like to see them?"

Guests? Claude had not looked at himself in a mirror since that first day, and now he sat in bed in an ill-fitting purple shirt, puzzling over an entire afternoon lost to him. And Leda wanted to know if he wanted to see some guests?

His morbid curiosity got the better of him.

"Okay," he called. "Come in."


	2. Chapter 2

The journey was only a few days, and in those few days Edelgard began to understand Lysithea a bit better. She was young, but she was not foolish, and she seemed wise beyond her years in some instances. On top of that, her sharp wit and venomous tongue kept Edelgard on her toes. It was almost fun, finding herself settling into a banter with the girl.

"You certainly brought a lot of books," Edelgard said. Lysithea had a knapsack and a small suitcase. Edelgard found out a day or two into their journey that she had brought approximately one change of clothes and a nightgown. The bags were packed to the brim with library books.

"I see you didn't," Lysithea remarked. "Shall I judge you for that?"

"It is within your right." Edelgard smiled thinly. "Though I imagine I packed a bit more sensibly for the journey."

"Excuse me?" Lysithea scowled. She gripped her book in white-knuckled hands. "Just because I did not pack _trousers_?"

"If you'd like," Edelgard said playfully, "you may borrow mine."

"No thank you!" Lysithea buried her nose in her book. "I think I'd rather eat my other dress than do that."

Their conversations went on like that. Lysithea seemed determined to be prickly around Edelgard, and Edelgard did not mind in the slightest. She found the girl endlessly amusing, and the more she saw of her, the more intrigued she was.

"Are you alright?" Edelgard asked one day as she watched Lysithea struggle with her bags. This had been a consistent problem. It seemed as though Lysithea got easily worn out, and her bags were too heavy for her.

"Fine," Lysithea said through gritted teeth. "I'm _fine_. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Edelgard asked, taken aback.

"Like—" Lysithea scowled. There was a sheen of sweat on her face from the overexertion. "Like I'm _fragile_! I'm not, you know. I can carry things for myself."

"I'm sure you can," Edelgard said patiently. She was not so sure, but she understood that Lysithea was stubborn and sensitive. "I will… leave you to it, then. However, if you wish for any help at all, know I am right here."

"Sure," Lysithea said stiffly. "Fine."

She did not allow Edelgard to help her. Not until they reached Ordelia, not after Edelgard gave her some space. Edelgard was beginning to suspect that that she might be ill before they even reached Ordelia.

When they did finally arrive, they pulled into a strangely empty town with houses made of old red brick. It was very green, and tall trees shaded them as they exited the carriage. Edelgard took it upon herself to grab Lysithea's suitcase on her way out, much to the girl's dismay.

"Hey!" Lysithea reached for the bag, and Edelgard lifted it over the girl's head. "What are you doing? Give that back to me!"

"Well," Edelgard said, "I thought it would only be polite if I carried your bag, since you are hosting me, after all."

"You are taunting me!" Lysithea's face was red, perhaps with anger, perhaps with embarrassment. "I did not ask you to carry it! Give it back, Edelgard."

"And have you huffing and puffing all the way to your home?" Edelgard demanded, ignoring how Lysithea flinched with some pinprick of guilt. She realized that coddling her would do nothing. After all, Lysithea took those things as pity. If the girl wanted to be seen as capable and strong, she needed to understand her limits.

"So I'm slowing you down?" Lysithea's nostrils flared a bit. So it was anger, then. "Do not forget, Edelgard, I did not _ask_ you to come with me! I allowed it, and I can go the rest of the way on my own if I must."

"You mistake me," Edelgard said in the calmest, gentlest voice she could muster. She lowered the suitcase on the ground between them. "Lysithea, I think you are incredibly talented, but the more I observe you, the more I think you push yourself past your limit. If I can alleviate your stress so you have more strength later, I will shoulder whatever burden you need me to. _Because_ you were so gracious to allow me to be your companion in this."

That cold rage that had been building in Lysithea dissipated as Edelgard spoke, and she could see it in Lysithea's eyes as they gradually widened that her words were rooting inside her brain. Until, finally, she slumped, and she looked away sharply.

"I… suppose I understand," she said. "Perhaps I do push myself. But I feel that it is a necessity for me."

"Why?" Edelgard asked, searching her face desperately.

" _Because_." Lysithea huffed, her eyes flashing everywhere but Edelgard's face. "It is not your business, anyway! Come on, we have a trek uphill to go."

She turned on her heel and stalked forward, her pale purple skirt fluttering at her calves. Her suitcase was left on the ground at Edelgard's feet, and Edelgard stooped to pick it up before rushing after her.

Ordelia seemed… greener than the rest of the Leicester Alliance. At least the parts of the Alliance that Edelgard had seen. The path they took uphill was through a grove of trees, and Lysithea nearly tripped over overgrown tree roots numerous times. Wildflowers peeked out through alcoves, purple lilac bushes dotting the landscape around them. Even as autumn seemed to creep upon them, the flowers bloomed.

"Your home…" Edelgard's fingers brushed the dewy edge of a low-hanging leaf. The moment she'd spoken, Lysithea had shot her a warning glance. "It is… so very beautiful, Lysithea."

And once more, Edelgard's soft words seemed to neutralize the anger that seemed to be brimming inside the poor girl. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away from Edelgard. Her hair was up again. This time, she wore it in three elegant swirls at the base of her neck.

"So it is," she said. And she kept walking.

The manor itself was not incredibly large or ornate or breathtaking in any way. It was an average keep, perhaps less of a castle than it was a very large house. The red brick was rich against the greenery surrounding it, and the entirety of the left side of the manor was covered in thick ivy. Most of it was deep green, but there was a splash of reddish-brown leaves that spider-webbed across glass windows.

They were scarcely in front of the manor for a minute before a man was bursting from the tall green door and bounding across the lawn. His hair was rather fair, and Edelgard thought for a moment, with some relief, that it was silvery like Lysithea's.

But as the man drew closer, Edelgard saw that that pale color was a pleasant, powdery blue, like a summer morning. His hair was cropped close to his head, and he had no facial hair, but he did wear a pair of thick spectacles.

"Eek!" Lysithea managed to squeak before the man, who could only be her father, lifted her off the ground and crushed her to his chest. "Daddy, let me _down_!"

"I'm sorry," the man said, "I cannot hear, suddenly. I think I've gone quite deaf."

"Daddy!" Lysithea managed to squirm out of her father's grasp and push herself back to the ground. She smoothed out her skirt, her face bright pink and her eyes darting nervously to Edelgard. With a quick, deep breath, she pushed her hair from her face and lifted her head high. "Father, this is Her Highness, Edelgard von Hresvelg."

Edelgard had watched this exchange with a strange, awful pang of resentment. She could not understand what it was at first, but she quickly realized that it was pure envy, and she quashed it down deep inside her.

"There is no need for that," Edelgard said weakly when Count Ordelia dipped into an abrupt, very deep bow. "Please, sir, this is your home. You needn't bow for me. Consider me your humbled guest."

To punctuate her point, the moment Count Ordelia raised his eyes with alarm and confusion, Edelgard put her hand to her heart and bowed her head to him.

Beside her, Lysithea stared with something akin to shock. It went away quickly.

"I apologize for not informing you that Edelgard was accompanying me," Lysithea told her father quickly. "It happened— rather… um…"

It was strange to see Lysithea scramble for words. She hardly ever came up short of those, so Edelgard had to wonder what had gotten into her head.

"I insisted on coming," Edelgard explained, smiling up at Count Ordelia pleasantly. "I… suppose you heard that Claude and I were kidnapped together."

"Yes," Count Ordelia said cautiously. "I'd heard that. My wife told me he asked after you when he woke up."

That chilled her to her very core.

"What?" Edelgard asked, her voice strangely weak and rattled. He'd asked about her? After everything? After she'd abandoned him?

Then, overwhelmingly, she was warmed from her heart to her head to her toes.

"There's no need to get embarrassed," Count Ordelia told her gently. Her face, she realized, must have been very red. "I cannot say how he will feel, but if you care for the boy, perhaps you should tell him."

"Care for him…?" Edelgard asked absently.

"Father," Lysithea said sharply, "do _not_."

"What?" Count Ordelia asked innocently. "What have I done?"

Lysithea frowned up at him, but that frown seemed to only deepend when she glanced at Edelgard. There was a question in her gaze that Edelgard could not decipher.

"It doesn't matter," Lysithea said hastily. "How _is_ Claude?"

"Ahh…" Count Ordelia ran his fingers through his hair. He tipped his head toward the sky. "We should go inside, shouldn't we? I do not like the look of the sky. It may storm tonight."

Lysithea looked extremely disturbed when her father turned away abruptly. "Daddy," she gasped, forgoing any formalities to hurry after him. "You can't just walk away— Hey!"

Without much of a choice, Edelgard followed Lysithea into the manor. They had to climb a flight of stairs immediately, and Lysithea's father slowed to allow Lysithea the time to catch up to him.

"What," Lysithea gasped, "is wrong? Claude _is_ alive, isn't he?"

"Yes," her father said, though his voice was a bit tight. "I'm sorry, Lysithea, but I cannot tell you everything at the moment. I need to discuss it with your mother—"

"Why?"

Count Ordelia turned to glance down at his daughter tiredly.

"Because," he said gently, "it is what I must do. If you and the princess would wait in the reception room—"

"Daddy," Lysithea said, her voice very quiet, "what are you not telling me? Is Claude okay, or is he not? Just say it."

Then, clearly unbidden, Count Ordelia's eyes flitted to Edelgard.

"I can go," Edelgard said without thinking. "If you need to speak to Lysithea alone, I can—"

"This is what you came here for," Lysithea said heatedly. "It should not be some secret. It's not a sensitive matter that I feel like we need to tip toe around you. If something is wrong with Claude, you will find out anyway."

Count Ordelia frowned deeply. He turned around once more and trekked up the stairwell.

"I will bring your mother to the reception room," Count Ordelia said. "Alright?"

He left them there. Lysithea nearly ran after him, but she got two steps before nearly falling flat on her face. Edelgard caught her arms and steadied her.

"I don't know what's going on with him!" she gasped, turning to face Edelgard with wide eyes. "He never acts like this, I swear."

"Perhaps it's just me?" Edelgard offered a meager smile. "I know that Adestria has… not be especially kind to your family."

"You are not Adestria," Lysithea said, waving her off. "He should know that. Oh, I'm _annoyed_. And having us wait in the reception room? Who uses the reception room! We never have guests."

"Well," Edelgard said teasingly, "am I not a guest?"

"Oh." Lysithea licked her lips, and she considered Edelgard as though she was an afterthought. "I suppose. Anyway, come this way, I _guess_."

So Edelgard followed Lysithea to the side, through a corridor and into a cozy little room that overlooked a beautiful garden. Almost immediately, Lysithea tossed her bag to the side and flopped onto a cushioned window seat. Edelgard could almost imagine a smaller Lysithea curled up into the groove of the nook, a book in her lap.

Rain had begun beating against the windows. Lysithea's legs dangled off the seat, and she stared at the ceiling with a frown.

"Something's wrong," she said quietly.

"With Claude?"

Lysithea nodded. She sat up suddenly, and she gripped the upholstery with white knuckles.

"I think," she said, staring at the door, "they are going to tell us something unpleasant, and I… am not entirely sure I want to hear it."

"Perhaps not?" Edelgard offered, sitting down at the nearest table. It was small and round, meant for two people to drink tea and look at the garden. "I mean, your father has every reason to be wary around me."

"It isn't you." Lysithea winced a bit. "Not… specifically."

"It's Adestria. You can say that."

Lysithea didn't. She did not say anything. She merely turned a loose strand of white hair around her finger twice, and Edelgard watched this with a frown.

Then a woman walked in, hardly stopping to take in Edelgard's appearance. She was poised and beautiful, wearing a lovely red gown that looked as though it had been plucked from Edelgard's own wardrobe in Enbarr, and her hair matched that gown almost exactly.

"What's going on, Mother?" Lysithea demanded before the woman could even reach out to her.

The woman, to her credit, did not even flinch at Lysithea's chilly tone. She did, however, halt where she stood, and stare down at her daughter with a mirror of her pale pink eyes.

"No hello?" the Countess von Ordelia laid a hand over her heart, and offered her daughter a look of mock sorrow. "I never thought I'd be so wounded— by my own daughter, no less!"

"Is this really the time for jokes?" Lysithea asked exasperatedly. "Mother, what's wrong with Claude?"

The joviality of the countess seemed to fall away like autumn leaves the minute Claude was mentioned. She looked away sharply, and Edelgard understood all at once the gravity of the situation.

Claude was not merely unwell. Claude was doing _badly_.

"I think that is…" The countess bobbed her head from side to side. "I honestly don't know how to explain it in a delicate way. I'd rather simply show you."

"Then show us," Edelgard demanded. Lysithea glanced at her in surprise, but when she glanced back at her mother, her expression seemed to mirror Edelgard's. It was hard and determined.

The countess eyed Edelgard. Her smile, which was endlessly kind, seemed to tighten a bit.

"Your Highness," she said, "I apologize for my rudeness, but—"

"You are not being rude," Edelgard cut in quickly. "And please, call me Edelgard. You are not subjects of the Empire, and even if you were, you are my most esteemed hosts. I am not your princess, nor will I ever be. I have no authority over you, so I apologize for demanding, but both your daughter and I have traveled a long way to be given vague answers."

"Mother," Lysithea gasped, "I must agree with Edelgard. You and Father are acting… very strange about all of this, and it worries me. Is Claude okay, or isn't he?"

"He's alive," Lysithea's mother said gently. "And I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you, but… again, I have a hard time— I suppose I really must show you. Edelgard, I will do my best to explain once you have seen, but it may be difficult to wrap your head around. If… you are familiar with the sorcery used, perhaps you may be of some help."

"I'm not one for sorcery," Edelgard admitted. "That's more your daughter's expertise."

The countess grimaced. Lysithea clearly noticed it, because when the countess turned away, Lysithea caught Edelgard by the sleeve, and then tugged her hand into hers. When Edelgard turned to look down at her, she looked strange and pale. She said nothing. Edelgard did not ask what was wrong, but instead squeezed Lysithea's hand and pulled her forward.

She was endlessly thankful, very suddenly, for Lysithea's grip on her. It kept her tethered to reality. Because her brain was running too hard and too fast for her to properly keep up with it. She imagined too many terrible things in that moment, and Lysithea held her there and reminded her that Claude was here, and he was alive, and that did matter.

The thing was, part of her already suspected. Before the countess even brought them to Claude's door, a part of her knew what she might see, but she ignored it, because it seemed just _too_ terrible to think about. So she did not think about it. She refused.

Only that did not stop the countess from coming to a stop before a door and knocking gently.

"Claude," the countess called. "I have guests. Would you… like to see them?"

Lysithea was nearly huddled against Edelgard, she was so close. Her nails were digging into Edelgard's hand.

A strange voice replied, but Edelgard could not quite understand what had been said.

Then, with a sigh, the countess glanced back at them. "Are you two ready?"

Wishing she had an explanation but unable to wait any longer, Edelgard nodded.

The countess opened the door, and Edelgard found herself looking at a small room that, if the purple décor and prominent bookshelf served, appeared to have once belonged to Lysithea. On the bed there was a skeletal boy with waxy, sallow skin that seemed to droop from his bones. He turned his head, and his eyes burned with curiosity.

And when those eyes met hers, that curiosity seemed to disintegrate before her like burnt pages turning to ash. Any emotion he may have been feeling was washed away and it left him looking vacant.

That was not the worst of it.

The worst part was that the boy, whose green eyes were as familiar as a scar or a kiss, the boy who was almost certainly Claude von Riegan, had hair so shockingly white that it looked like dove's feathers had fallen upon his forehead and gathered around his ears.

And perhaps worse than the worst was that Edelgard was not shocked. She could not even feign shock as he stared at her, judged her, and condemned her, because he was right to do so. It was _her_ miscalculation that had landed him on that ship, bleeding out, and it was _her_ mistake that had left him in the grasp of—

Suddenly Edelgard's hand was empty, and she twisted to look at Lysithea, but she was already in the room. Edelgard hung back, unable to move.

Lysithea said nothing. She merely walked, very slowly, very unsteadily, to Claude's bedside. He tore his eyes from Edelgard to watch her. She sat down on his bed, and she laid her hands on her knees. As she sat, his hand, strange and thin, brushed the loose strands of her hair that hung near her ear. Those strands slipped through his fingers, light as spider's silk.

Claude smiled at her. His smile did not reach his eyes.

"Look," he said, his voice raw and labored, so quiet and slow that it sounded like it was coming from an old man, "we… could be siblings. You and I."

Lysithea sucked in a breath so sharp Edelgard stepped forward, thinking she might have hurt herself. She lifted to fingers to the bridge of her nose and pressed hard.

"Claude," she whispered, her voice shaky. " _Please_. Tell me it isn't true."

Claude took Lysithea's hands, and he held them tight. His smile did not falter, though his eyes only grew more distant.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I… I want… to say it—" His expression twisted suddenly, desperately, and with a strange and unfathomable look he turned his gaze to the countess.

Lysithea followed his gaze. Her eyes were red, and her nose was pink, and her lips were tremulous.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Lysithea demanded.

"I did not know how to say it," the countess sighed. She turned her attention to Claude. "Deep breaths, darling, keep yourself calm. You can do it."

Edelgard's eyes flitted between Lysithea and Claude. She wanted to scream because it was so unfair.

"You should slow down," Edelgard said, feeling as though her mouth was speaking without her permission. "If you can't remember a word, perhaps move on to another word. Don't panic, it will make you forget more. Stop, take time to gather yourself, and then speak. It will help if you keep your sentences short."

Each of them stared at her with varying degrees of confusion, which bloomed slowly into horror.

The horror reached Claude's eyes first, somehow.

 _I always knew he was too smart for his own good_ , she thought. She carefully shut the door behind her as she moved further into the room.

"Wait," Lysithea uttered dazedly. "Edelgard… you— no. That's not…"

"I have two Crests," Edelgard said gently. "Same as you. Same as…" Her eyes flickered to Claude's. He was no longer staring at her in horror, and instead there was no emotion on his face at all. He merely stared at her. "Well. It's all the same. I… remember the horror of it very well. Afterwards, I had difficulty walking and speaking. It took a little bit of time, and a lot of effort, but I got better at that."

"How long?" Claude croaked.

Edelgard blinked. "A… few years," Edelgard said absently. "To fully recover, I mean."

Claude's jaw jumped. "I… don't have that," he said.

Lysithea's eyes flashed wide. Then she reached out and grasped Claude's hand. He did not close his fingers around hers, and instead just stared at Edelgard with the hardest, emptiest stare she'd ever seen.

"What?" she managed to ask.

"I…" He licked his lips, and he sucked in a deep breath. "I'm…"

"He's dying," Lysithea murmured. "Claude… I…"

He shook his head. He smiled at her, as warmly as if he had seen her in passing at the monastery.

"No," he said softly. "It's okay. I… I'm… if you are too, then… I'm sorry."

"Dying," Edelgard echoed. She looked between Claude and Lysithea, feeling cold and confused. "Both of you?"

She knew about the chance of a reduced lifespan, of course. Of course she did. How could she not know? But an actual death sentence?

A few lingering, ghostly faces of her siblings floated to the top of her brain, and she closed her eyes. Then she opened them. Not another Hresvelg to be seen.

Lysithea's head drooped, and she stared at Claude's hand in hers. She dropped it and stood up very suddenly.

"I'm going to take a walk," she said.

"Lysithea," the countess gasped, "it's pouring—"

But Lysithea was already gone.

" _Lysithea_!" The countess darted after her daughter, leaving Claude and Edelgard alone.

She stood before him, feeling downright foolish. She felt like the universe had played a terrible trick on her. That trick was only snowballing, and she feared it might crush her. Claude had been experimented on, just as she'd feared, and worse, the experimentation had not been successful. He had not died immediately, not like most of her siblings, but this was almost worse. She could see the defeat in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He did not answer. It felt like she was already talking to a dead boy, and she wanted to reach over the bed, take him by the shoulders, and throttle him.

"I'm—" Edelgard took a deep breath. She was deeply shaken by all of this. He was staring at her like he could see through her, or worse, he saw her and thought perhaps it did not even matter that she was here. "I cannot… apologize enough, Claude. I feel responsible for this, and—"

"You're not."

The way he said this, it almost sounded like the old Claude again. It was so sure and firm and yet, somehow, still _light_. When she looked down at him, he was not looking at her. When she looked away, she felt his eyes on her face.

 _I want to tell him,_ she thought desperately. _Why do I want to tell him everything?_

"You should listen to me," Edelgard said bitterly, "before you say that. You don't know—"

"I know enough." Claude closed his eyes. He tilted his head back, and he smiled. With his eyes closed, it almost looked real. "It's… enough. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

He took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he looked so tired, she was surprised he didn't fall over.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Because—" she began.

"No," he said, reaching up and pressing his hand to her lips. His palm was scratchy and callused, and her words were fed into it. Perhaps he'd curl his palm up and take her excuses to his grave with him. "I… don't wanna hear it. Okay? I don't. It's enough. For me, it's enough, and I need— I _need_ it to be enough for you too."

"It's not."

He exhaled a bit shakily through his nose, half a laugh, half a scoff, and all of it sort of sad. He glanced at her, and she felt like she could see him clearly now. Claude von Riegan. Smart and wicked, carefree and kind. She had wanted so badly to hate him, but now all she could do was see a bit of herself in the way his eyes set determinedly upon her face.

"I won't give you," he said, taking a pause to tumble through his own thoughts, "the absolution you need. I have had enough. Take your apology to someone… someone else. Someone who needs it. I have had enough, Edelgard."

That only made her feel worse. Perhaps if he appeared not to know that she had an involvement in this, somehow, that would make things simpler. He'd be kind enough to say there was nothing to forgive, and she'd be on her way, knowing her guilt would destroy her one day, but that day was not today.

Only he _did_ know. She knew he knew. They looked at one another, and suddenly it felt like everything was laid bare. Claude was not fooled by her, and she could see that he had lost any semblance of a lazy, arrogant façade with the natural glow of his hair and skin. He knew she had something to do with this, but probably not the details.

And still, he did not care.

"It's not enough for me," she murmured.

"I can't help you."

"Then," Edelgard said, remembering all at once her promise to Lysithea, "let me help _you_."

That seemed to jostle him. She saw his eyes flash wide, and his lips opened up to ask something, but she heard no words. Instead, a bright and disbelieving laugh shuddered all around her. It shuddered him too.

"Don't," he said, shaking him head. "I… don't think you can help."

"Claude," Edelgard said, kneeling beside his bed so he was no longer peering up at her. "I have two Crests, same as you. If I have lived this long, why can't you do just the same?"

"Because," Claude said, smiling at her gently, "I can tell it— it's killing me. I feel it. Like Lysithea must feel it."

"Then let me find a way to help," Edelgard said desperately. "Let me fix this."

"How?" he demanded. "This… this is an impossible thing. We are impossible. You cannot fix the impossible."

"I can try."

"Don't be a fool," Claude laughed, turning his face away as though he could no longer look in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm the fool now?" Edelgard could not help the bite to her tone, an old habit that crept up on her as her brain, more and more, recognized Claude's voice as his _own_. "Claude, I did not come here because I thought an apology would be enough. I did not… imagine, you know, that I would find you like this, but I… I know how you are feeling. If _anyone_ can understand, it's me, Claude."

"Lysithea seems to have a good grasp on it," Claude said coolly.

"Of course," Edelgard sighed, "I meant Lysithea as well, but… please, can't you find it in your heart to believe that I am truly here to help?"

"It isn't…" Claude drew his hands up, and she watched him grasp at his white hair with meager frustration. "It's not _that_. Believe it or not, I don't think you are a— a terrible person, and I know you wouldn't lie. At least, not about…" He waved his hand vaguely, gesturing widely to himself.

That sent another pang of guilt through her. Because he knew she would lie about other things. Perhaps he'd known for a while.

"And yet," she said, "you do not want my help."

"No."

"Why?"

He looked into her eyes, and she saw just how intensely sad he looked in that moment. Then, once more, he smiled.

"Are you dying, Edelgard?" he asked.

She sat on the floor before him, shocked and sickened, and she said nothing. He laughed at her, turning his face away and smiling bitterly at his hands.

"I thought not," he said. "Go live your life. Dream your dreams. You don't need to burden yourself with mine."

"Perhaps," she said heatedly, "I would not _mind_ the burden."

"I imagine you would not take to the load."

"Try me," she all but demanded. She was very close to him now, leaning against the bed and staring at his face until he once more faced her. "I'm here, am I not?"

"For how long?" he challenged her, sounding both amused and annoyed.

"I—" Of course, that was the question, wasn't it? She needed to go back to the monastery eventually. She had to finish what she'd started. "I don't know. How long do you need me to be with you?"

Claude's smile was almost wicked in the way it stretched upon his lips.

"How about forever?" he asked, and when she froze, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, Edelgard. No. I don't need you. Not at all."

"But I need _you_ ," she said, struggling to regain her bearings, "to be okay. I want to save you and Lysithea. There has to be a way to do that."

"You don't have to—" Claude began.

"No." Edelgard reached up and clapped both her hands over his mouth. He blinked at her. "Stop it. I made my decision. I will… I will do what I can to save you, and you will live your own life, and dream your own dreams. Got it?"

Strangely, his mouth moved against her hand, and she was scared he might lick her, or something, so she removed both of them.

She saw he was smiling. It seemed, for once, his eyes were smiling too.

"I suppose I can't…" He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to blink stars from his eyes. "I really can't dissuade you, can I?"

"You are stuck with me," Edelgard said firmly. She stood up, feeling confused and sad, but ultimately determined. "When we return to Garreg Mach—"

"Oh," Claude said with a laugh, "I won't be going back there."

Edelgard stood for a moment, processed this response, and decidedly did not panic. Instead, she nodded, knowing well enough that this calmness would surprise him.

"What do you intend to do, then?" she asked him.

"I… am not sure yet." Claude shrugged. "You… you still wanna help?"

"Yes."

"You want to help me," Claude said, his brow furrowing, "even if I do not… ever… go back?"

Edelgard stared at him. They were fixing one another with the sort of stares that she thought might be reserved for sworn enemies, or very amicable chess opponents. His eyes were the same as they'd always been, she told herself, and yet when he looked at her, she thought that there was so much clouding his vision that he might not see her at all. Maybe they were both desperate. Maybe they were both determined. Maybe they were both the same.

Maybe that did not matter. Could ships traveling in parallel ever meet?

"I won't abandon my own dreams," Edelgard said, finding herself very hesitant to speak of it. "I can't. But I will… do all I can for you, for as long as I can."

Claude's gaze swept along her face, searching her for a lie perhaps, or maybe he just thought he might memorize her features.

"You are…" He tilted his head, and she thought maybe she could see him find something in her face. Maybe it was a truth, maybe it was nothing at all. "You never cease to surprise me, Edelgard."

"Perhaps you will get used to it," she said, smiling at him.

"Or," Claude said, "perhaps not."

"You don't think I'll stick around?"

Claude smiled back at her. He did not answer.

* * *

Edelgard _had_ surprised him. She had surprised him by showing up, she had surprised him by staying. She had surprised him in the way she seemed to slip easily back into bantering, and she surprised him in how wholly she seemed to believe that she could save him. She surprised him in her smile, in her reserved little laughs, in the clarity of her words yet the vagueness of her actions.

Her past surprised him, and he knew her future would too.

Somehow, he was a bit enthralled by it.

Ganymede, Lysithea's father, had personally taken to packing Claude a bag for whatever reason. Claude was grateful, but it seemed excessive. Derdriu wasn't _that_ far, and Claude knew he had clothes there. The problem wouldn't be the journey. It would be dealing with the aftermath.

As curious as Edelgard seemed about him, he doubted she'd continue this game for long. Especially where he was headed.

"Your grandfather might not take it too terribly," Ganymede said, always the optimist. "You don't know for certain that you have a year. After all, we were told that Lysithea's lifespan was shortened, but not by how much."

"I remember hearing that I had a year," Claude said. "I can't speak to the validity of it, but I don't exactly feel myself getting…" Claude waved offhandedly. He could not be bothered to find the one word that had escaped him.

"Better?" Ganymede offered.

"Sure."

"Perhaps it is not about getting better," Ganymede offered gently, "but instead not getting worse?"

"I personally don't see a difference." Claude maneuvered his cane around the man. "I am going to the garden. Please don't tell Leda."

Ganymede smiled at Claude, and he offered a single wink behind his round glasses.

"Tell Leda what?" he asked. "That you took a very short, very _careful_ walk? I don't see the issue."

The thing about Ganymede was that as kind as he was, he kept to himself and liked it that way. It had taken awhile for Claude to actually see him, because the man holed himself up in the library more often than not. In terms of appearance, Lysithea seemed to take mostly after her mother, but it did not take long for Claude to realize that she was _just_ like her father.

Frankly, Claude would stay in Ordelia forever if he could. The gardens were lovely, and the forests provided good reading spots. Reading helped him sort out his brain. It also helped him keep time, as he tended to lose track of it more often than not.

This particular day— his last day in Ordelia, perhaps the last day he would ever _spend_ in Ordelia— was bright and golden, with sunlight dripping off greenery like yellow paint. The sun's warmth did nothing to neutralize the autumn chill that hung in the air, however, and as Claude walked, his nose and ears and fingers tingled. It did not help that he had to move rather slowly.

He eventually sat down beneath a large oak tree. He had some letters to write, but his handwriting was shaky and almost illegible. His language blocks seemed more or less tied to his speech, which was a relief, since he was still able to write and read fine.

After about an hour, he was joined by a small, veiled child who was head-to-toe decked in a white smock. A basket hung from the crook of her elbow, and she knelt beside him before carefully pushing her veil back and removing the wide-brim hat it was attached to.

"My parents are worried about you," Lysithea said, removing her thick white gloves and folding them up beside her veiled hat. "They keep asking me if you're alright, as though I would know how exactly you are feeling about all of this."

"Don't you?" Claude asked, feeling cruel for prodding her this way. She took no notice, if it really did bother her.

"I was very young when I received my second Crest," Lysithea said, pulling her basket onto her lap. "I can't really remember life before it. Perhaps I was happier, but… if I am suffering, then suffering is all I've ever really known. I cannot know how you are feeling, Claude."

"Not great," he said dryly, "if you were really wondering."

"I wasn't," she said, tearing a loaf of bread from her basket in two. She paused to glance up at him, perhaps to see if her joke had landed. He smiled, and she smiled back dimly. "You said you think you have a year?"

"More or less."

"Well," Lysithea said, "we should make the most of it."

"We…?"

Lysithea's pale pink eyes were clear and bright, and when she looked into his eyes, her gaze was nothing but genuine. She looked at him as though he was being silly. _Of course_ , her eyes said. _Duh. We. What else could it be_?

"Do you like honey?" Lysithea asked. She did not actually wait for an answer, and Claude observed her curiously as she took a knife and cut a wedge of what appeared to be an oozing, golden brown slice of honeycomb. Honey dribbled down the crust of the bread as she offered it out, and he took it carefully.

"Thanks," he said. He eyed her veil and her white smock. "I didn't realize there was a… um… bee—"

"An apiary," Lysithea said, a bit too shortly. She seemed to see the hurt in his eyes, because she shook her head furiously. "Sorry. I know you know that."

"Yeah. It's… it's good. It's fine."

"It isn't."

It _isn't_. Of course he knew that. However, he was not a fool, not by a long shot, and if his life was ending as he spoke and breathed and cast his thoughts to the wind, then it seemed a waste to focus too much energy on becoming angry that he had lost sight of his words.

"But I do keep bees," she said, nibbling on her own honeyed bread. Claude had very little appetite, but he did not want to waste the honeycomb Lysithea had very clearly just harvested, so he took a bite. The honey was rich and thick, and the abrupt sweetness almost made him gag. Luckily, Lysithea did not notice. "It would be a waste, I think, not to. Ordelia has so many flowers, and you… you know how I like sweet things. My father began keeping them when I was very small. He and I tend to it, mostly, though I think Helene and Hebe do a lot when I'm not around."

"Those are the servants?" Claude asked tentatively.

"Something like that."

Claude raised an eyebrow, and he scooted closer to Lysithea. "What," he said, "does _that_ mean?"

Lysithea pressed her lips together thinly. There was enough honey there that her lips stuck together, and she scraped the back of her hand over her mouth.

"It doesn't matter," she murmured.

"Hey," he gasped, "I'm _dying_. Who am I gonna tell?"

With a sharp exhale, and an even sharper look, Lysithea, settled her back against the tree.

"You cannot tell _anyone_ ," she said firmly. "Especially not Edelgard."

"Why would I tell Edelgard anything secret?" Claude laughed. "I like her well enough, and I… I'm… sad. Yeah, sad. I'm sad for her. But I don't fully _trust_ her."

"I want to trust her," Lysithea sighed. "Is that foolish of me?"

"No." Claude was surprised, but mostly he was thankful. Lysithea was one of the smartest people he knew, and if even she seemed to be drawn to Edelgard, it made him feel better about wanting… well, he was not sure what he wanted from Edelgard. Not yet. "But you shouldn't."

"I know." Lysithea's eyes flashed to his dangerously. "Neither should you."

"Now what does _that_ mean?"

"It means," Lysithea said, licking the honey off her lips, "I think, perhaps, you should be careful. You were staring at her all through dinner last night."

"So?"

"So," Lysithea said briskly, "I can see when you're plotting something. Edelgard is like us, but she _isn't_. She's not dying, not like we are, and she's… she's got her own life to deal with."

"I know that." Claude frowned. Yes, he'd been staring at Edelgard, but she'd been staring _back_. He'd thought they were playing a game. "I'm sure she knows that too. Don't worry, I'm sure she'll get bored of us sooner rather than later."

"You think so?" Lysithea's voice betrayed her skepticism. "I don't know, Claude. I think she does want to help you."

"I am also apparently very powerful now," Claude said. It was sarcastic, but he could not commit to putting the energy into a teasing tone. "Maybe that's what she's after."

"I don't think so." Lysithea seemed to have missed the joke. "She has her own Crests. No offense, but she probably does not need yours."

"I am _fully_ offended!" Claude grinned at her.

"You have honey on your chin," Lysithea told him matter-of-factly, "Mr. _Offended_."

Claude used his tongue to search for said honey, and Lysithea made an exasperated noise of pure disgust. He laughed, feeling the laughter bubble up suddenly, and it overwhelmed him in that moment. Because he could not remember the last time he'd laughed like this, or had felt truly happy and content, and he forced himself to laugh more so he would not cry.

He ended up on his side, curled against the trunk of the oak tree, laughing at Lysithea's irritation.

"Shut up!" she gasped. "Don't laugh at me! You should wipe your mouth like a civilized human being."

"Who," Claude gasped, holding his half-eaten bread over his head and holding his side, "is _civilized_? You know— some— some people… might consider spells— that, you know—" His laughter died down. He thought for a moment. "Spells that turn people's brains to jelly might be, you know, _uncivilized_."

"Shut up." Lysithea's face was bright red. "Just wipe your face, Claude."

"Are you gonna turn... my brains to jelly… if I don't…?"

She did not, but she _did_ steal his bread from him and stalked off with her honey, like some grumpy little bear cub.

That night at dinner, Claude took care not to stare at Edelgard. She still stared at him. Perhaps she was confused. After all, he was avoiding eye-contact with her. He merely pushed his asparagus about his plate, letting it intermingle with the potatoes and become friendly with them. All the food here was grown in a separate section of the garden, which, according to Lysithea, was mostly tended by Ganymede.

He noted the servant girls, Helene and Hebe. They did not act like servants, not really. They did not lay the table out, or ladle the soup into their bowls. They did not wait to be dismissed. They did not sit at the table, either, but Claude wondered if that was for his and Edelgard's benefit.

He was not sure which was which, but one of the girls had wiry orange hair as big as a cloud. She was taller, and stockier too, with wide shoulders and thick arms. She had a very pretty smile and very kind eyes, and she always made an effort to wave to Claude when she passed him. Whenever Claude saw her, she was wearing either a forest green dress, or a black one with white lace finishing. The other girl had darker hair, a coppery hue that was still curly, but rather sleek and pinned purposefully in places. She had a strange quality to her, and her face reminded Claude of a fox's. She did not smile often, and she did not often spare him much attention. She was the girl who had most often taken care of him in those first few days. He remembered vaguely seeing her face when he'd been forced into the bath.

"Claude?" Edelgard's voice broke him out of his thoughts abruptly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," he said, smiling at her in a puzzled sort of way. "Why?"

"You aren't eating."

Edelgard jabbed her fork in the direction of his food to emphasize this. His eyes followed her fork, and he saw that he really hadn't eaten anything.

"Ah," he said, his smile tight, "so I'm not."

"If you are not feeling well," Leda said gently, "you are free to leave, Claude."

"No, no," Claude laughed, "I'm— good. I just was stuck in my own, um…" He knocked the end of his fork against his head sheepishly. Leda smiled back at him, and she nodded.

"You don't have to explain anything, Claude," Leda said gently. "We understand."

"Thanks."

Lysithea caught him after dinner, perhaps before Edelgard could, and she dragged him to her old room, the one he was staying in.

"You know," she said impatiently, "when I pointed out that you did not stop staring at her last night, I did not mean for you to completely _ignore_ her tonight. What is wrong with you?"

"I was honestly…" He scratched the back of his head. "I've been distracted. Sorry."

"Yes, Claude," Lysithea sighed, "I'm sure everyone's noticed that. Would you care to talk about it, or will you simply evade the topic?"

"I'd like to evade the topic," he said brightly, "thank you for asking!"

"Claude," Lysithea sighed, lowering herself onto his bed while he stood feebly before her, leaning against his cane. "You're being… just…"

"Impossible?"

That made her smile a bit. Perhaps because he had supplied her with a word rather than the other way around.

"Edelgard will get suspicious if you avoid her," Lysithea said. "Do you care?"

"Not particularly."

"Liar."

"Oh?" He leaned up against a nearby desk, unable to keep himself standing. Lysithea's assumptions were amusing, but he found himself confused here. "You seem to think I care a lot more for Edelgard than I actually do. Don't tell me you're projecting."

" _I_ can actually admit I've grown to like her more than I expected to," Lysithea said.

"I do too," Claude said with a snort, "but that does not mean I'm out here about to spill my heart out to her. Even if we've been through… similar…" He licked his lips. This was so frustrating. He had to calm down, but the word was lost on him, and Lysithea saw it. He knew she saw it. She was watching him watch the word fly farther and farther away from him.

"I know," Lysithea said. Her voice was hard. "I don't think you'll blindly trust her. I'm just… as confused about her as you are. I don't know how to feel."

"Feel good," Claude told Lysithea gently. "She's been through… through the same thing. If that's enough for you—"

"Enough for me for _what_ , exactly?" Lysithea demanded. "What is with you?"

They were talking in circles now, and Claude did not want to admit that he worried about Lysithea's attachment to him. They had gotten closer in the past few months, but ever since she'd arrived here and seen him… as he was now, it just seemed like she'd latched onto him. He did not want to point out to her that she, of _anyone_ , should know better than to grow close to someone who might not be around long.

He did not have the heart to tell her so. It seemed cruel.

What Claude wanted, if he was honest, was for Edelgard and Lysithea to leave him. If they would do that, if they would just abandon him, then he could figure this out on his own, and even if he could not save himself, Lysithea had years left to live. He could make progress, and someone else could finish what he started.

Neither of them had to suffer or watch _him_ suffer.

But how did he say that? He was stuck inside his head, and he did not trust Edelgard, not fully, but he _wanted_ to. He wanted to trust Lysithea to her, and send her on her merry way. He wanted to search her brain and find that she had organized it as though in a mirror of his own.

Perhaps then he would feel at peace.

"Claude," Lysithea said sharply. "Claude, are you okay?"

"What?" Claude blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You just were staring off," Lysithea said, "for… I don't know. Maybe a few minutes?"

He had not realized that.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "You weren't talking, were you?"

Lysithea just gave him a wide, blank stare. Perhaps he was missing something. He wanted to be angry at himself, but he did not have the energy, so instead he smiled at her weakly and rubbed his eyebrow as if to massage some clarity into his brain.

"Claude," Lysithea sighed. "Would you… like to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About whatever is happening with you." Lysithea sounded worried. He wished she wouldn't. See, _this_ was why he wanted her to go back to the monastery. "Has a proper doctor—"

"Yes," he said curtly. "There's no medical… you know. Explain… ex... reason, you know. For this." He felt distinctly uncomfortable talking about it. Talking about his condition. It felt pointless. He'd already accepted it all, so what did it matter? "Can I ask you about Helene and Hebe now?"

Lysithea looked, frankly, alarmed and annoyed. Her brow pinched and her mouth fell open, and she looked ready to throw something at him.

"Now is _not_ the time to change the subject, Claude!"

"Would you rather I ask on the way to Derdriu?" he asked with a small laugh. "Come on. What's the big secret?"

When Lysithea did not answer, Claude's smile widened.

"I bet," he said, "I can guess."

With a groan, Lysithea flopped backwards onto his bed. Her bed, technically, but he was using it. She covered her face with her hands, and he grinned as she mumbled into her hands.

"What was that?" Claude cupped his ear. "Yes, you want me to guess?"

"No!" Lysithea bolted upright. "I do _not_ want you to guess! If you really must know, Helene and Hebe are my cousins."

" _Cousins_ ," Claude murmured, feeling a bit giddy as the pieces connected in his mind. It was exhilarating, putting together a puzzle through scraps of information. Theorizing quickly, making assumptions, linking evidence. When he looked at Lysithea, she looked mildly horrified. She knew, he supposed, from his smile that he'd gotten it. "Your mother is Leda von Hrym, then?"

Lysithea sat there, her eyes set upon his face like she had been turned to stone, and he felt suddenly guilty. It was clear now why she was so testy about the subject, but he could not help himself. A mystery was just the thing to get his mind off the strange and fanciful musings of death.

"My mother is Leda von Ordelia," Lysithea said calmly. "Helene and Hebe are her sister, Dione's children."

"You can tell me what happened," Claude said gently. "I won't tell."

"I know," Lysithea said, unwavering and unblinking. "That is not the point. It is not my story to tell."

"I'm…" Claude sighed. Yes, he was being insensitive. He knew that. "I'm sorry. I just… your mother… it makes sense, but if… she's of Hrym, then why—"

"She's not a Hrym," Lysithea said firmly.

Claude could read between the lines. Leda was not a Hrym, just as Claude was not a Riegan. Not technically.

"Dione was an heir," Claude guessed, unable to stop himself. "Leda was not."

Lysithea did look away at this. Her eyes darted to her hands, which sat in her lap, and she took a deep breath.

"I never met my aunt," she said. "I am not a Hrym, and neither is my mother. If you really _must_ know, since I have a feeling you will figure it out anyway, Helene and Hebe _were_ once of House Hrym. Hebe is older. They had three brothers and another sister, a younger one, but they are all dead now. The two of them only survived by chance, because they were at Garreg Mach at the time. They stayed there for a… very long time. Hebe was training to be a Knight of Seiros, while Helene became a nun. Rumors were spread about their deaths by various knights who traveled between the kingdoms. Eventually, when they felt safe enough, they decided to come to Ordelia to stay with my family. That was a few years ago, though I cannot tell you how long they'll stay."

Claude sat patiently and listened. None of this surprised him, except perhaps that the Church had taken the girls in, but he supposed it made sense. He thought of Cyril with some bitterness that he could not fully express here, though Lysithea noticed his grimace.

"They aren't servants," she said. "They do chores here and there because, as you know, at Garreg Mach you need to earn your place."

"Oh," he said, the bitterness tight in his throat, "I know."

Lysithea, if she noticed, ignored it. She smoothed the loose strands of her hair back behind her ears, and she shook her head.

"My family did not help Hrym because we are family," she told him curtly. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. No matter the result, I'm proud of my father for reaching out and helping those who needed help. He would have done it regardless."

"He is incredibly kind," Claude told Lysithea with a genuine smile. "You are lucky to have such a loving and affectionate father."

"Is your father not loving and affectionate?"

There it was. He couldn't help but smile wider at her boldness. She was getting back at him for prying into her family's business.

"He is loving," Claude said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Affectionate, though? Not quite so much. Only when he is upset, I think."

"Most of us thought your father might be dead."

"He's not." Claude shrugged, trying not to think too hard about who he was actually talking about. "You have your theories about me. Go on, tell me."

With a small scoff, Lysithea folded her arms across her chest.

"You won't be insulted," she said, "if I tell you I assumed you were a bastard?"

"Nope." Claude grinned. In all honesty, he kind of _was_ one. In the eyes of the Church of Seiros, he was. His parents, if memory served, had not married immediately. Not that it mattered in the laws of Almyra. "My mother and father are very much in love and very much married. But good guess."

He did not ask if she thought so because of her mother, because he knew that was rude, but he did _think_ it, which might have been ruder.

"I… don't really know, then." Lysithea sighed. "When will you tell them, then? About… all of this?"

"When I see them next, I suppose."

"If you need me to be with you," Lysithea said immediately, "I'm with you. No matter what."

Claude thought for a moment he might cry. Because as much as he wanted her to leave him, a selfish part of him was so thankful that she was willing to stay.

"It might be out of your way," he said.

"I don't care."

And just like that, Claude realized that he truly would not shake this girl. Little Lysithea, the clever girl always stuck in the library, was no longer a little kid that he could tease and coddle. She was a companion.

"Just don't let me cry in front of them," Claude murmured. "Please."

Lysithea agreed without hesitation.

* * *

Claude was avoiding her, which was fine. He deserved to keep to himself. After what had happened to him, of course he needed time to himself.

It did not stop Edelgard from feeling guiltier. She did not remember Claude being so introverted before. She noted some other differences, besides the obvious motor and speech issues, that he often seemed to be lost in a daze. She caught him sometimes staring off into space and not even noticing her presence. She walked by him twice in the Ordelia garden at one point, and he did not so much as glance at her. At first she'd assumed he was ignoring her, but upon her third pass, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin when she stepped on a fallen branch, and he'd greeted her like it was the first time he'd seen her all day.

Now they were on their way to Derdriu. Claude slept for a decent portion of the day, though Edelgard hardly blamed him. She and Lysithea made small talk, but Lysithea seemed more guarded now with Claude around. It was like they were strangers again.

Since leaving Ordelia, Lysithea had let her hair down. She also, thankfully, had packed more dresses than books this time.

"He's taken this whole thing well," Edelgard remarked on their second day on the road. Claude had woken up only to move himself from the carriage to an inn, and vice versa.

"You think so?" Lysithea frowned. Her eyes moved to Claude, who had curled into the corner of the carriage and not moved for a few hours. "I think he might go insane, the way he's bottling everything up."

Edelgard followed Lysithea's gaze, and she could not agree with that sentiment. Perhaps because she felt she understood Claude's situation a bit more than Lysithea's. Lysithea, after all, hardly remembered a time before having two Crests. Claude was adjusting to it well, as far as Edelgard could tell. The despondency and depression were normal. At the very least Claude was still trying to engage in the things he'd loved before, like reading.

It was hard to remember what Edelgard had found fun before. She'd lost all of that in the transition.

"You should have more faith in him," Edelgard told Lysithea sternly. "He's stronger than you think."

Lysithea bristled at that. She sent Edelgard a look that said all it needed to, and she shook her head fiercely.

"Of course I think he's strong," she snapped. "I think he's more than just strong. I just happen to know him a little better than you, I think!"

"Perhaps you should lower her voice," Edelgard murmured, "lest you wake him up."

"If he wakes up, that's his business." Lysithea's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps he could settle this and decide if he is strong or not."

It was not like Edelgard could argue with that. Especially since Claude did poke his head out at that, his green eyes groggy as they squinted between the two of them.

"Nothing quite like," he said, his voice thick, "the sound of girls arguing in the morning."

"It's nearly dinner time, Claude." Lysithea rolled her eyes while Claude pulled his coat tighter around himself.

"It's morning to me." Claude stretched his arms over his head and yawned, as if to prove his point. "I take it we're almost… mm…" He waved his hands emphatically. He was getting better at not getting frustrated when he lost his train of thought.

"We're due to arrive at Derdriu within an hour or so." Edelgard studied his face, and she wondered if he doubted her conviction. She could not blame him if he did. Her heart was here, agonizing over the reality that Claude was dying because of her mistake, while her mind was still at Garreg Mach, plotting and organizing and keeping too many secrets to bear.

Claude hummed, perhaps to himself, and he toyed with the white braid that hung close to his ear. His eyes drifted away from her face, and he seemed once more lost to them.

Edelgard still thought he was taking it well. He had not cried once in the few days they'd been together. Of course, there was no accounting for what he did when he was alone.

It was difficult to remember now, but Edelgard had cried a lot at first.

Since then, she scarcely remembered if she could cry anyway or anymore.

"What will you say to your grandfather?" Lysithea asked. It was good that she asked this, because Edelgard was wondering, and she very much did not want to be the one to do so.

"The truth," Claude said, "I guess."

He did not elaborate.

When they arrived in Derdriu, Edelgard watched Claude closely. He still needed a cane, and he moved slowly from the carriage onto the cobblestone street. They were taking a small boat the rest of the way, much to Edelgard's dismay.

Claude, perhaps, had noticed her discomfort, and he offered her his arm as he stood in the boat, nearly ready to topple over himself. Lysithea saw this, and she grabbed his knee to steady him. If he noticed, he did not look even a little bit bothered. He merely gazed at her steadily, his arm extended, and when she did nothing but stare back, he smiled.

"Come on," he said gently. "I've got you."

"You hardly have yourself," Edelgard managed to spit out.

The smile on Claude's face, which had been tentative and small, split into a grin.

"Maybe so," he said boldly. His arm stretched further, and his fingers unfurled for her.

Unable to fully comprehend her own need to prove him wrong, she stepped onto the boat— and almost immediately toppled over. Lysithea snatched her by the hem of her skirt, and Edelgard sunk to the bottom of the boat beside her.

"Both of you," Lysithea gasped, looking pale and terrified. "Both of you are hopeless! Sit down and stay still, will you?"

Claude settled down beside Lysithea without much fuss, though he did laugh at her and nudge her teasingly. "You worry too much," he told her, and Edelgard watched Lysithea's face go pink with either embarrassment or rage.

The canals were small at first. The stone buildings rose up around them, and stark waterlines marked up the brick where high tides had licked away at the foundation. Soon, though, the canals opened up, and they were gliding along an enormous stretch of water. Small waves lapped against the side of the boat, and Edelgard sat stiffly with a clenched jaw.

To her dismay, Claude had noticed. Perhaps she had made her discomfort too clear, but all the same, he had noticed, and he scooted along the edge of the boat until he'd placed himself between her and the water.

The only trouble was that he was very close now. His shoulders bumped against hers as the boat rocked to and fro, and she could smell his scent of his soap on his skin and hair from the mere inches between them.

 _Jasmine_ , she thought. _And honey too. Jasmine and honey, honey and jasmine, jasmine and…_

Claude's eyes flashed to her face suddenly, and for a minute Edelgard feared he could hear her thoughts. Then he smiled, and it hung crookedly on his lips as he nudged her shoulder with his.

"Have you ever been to Derdriu before?" he asked.

"No." Her fingers had disappeared in her skirt. "It is… very beautiful."

"Sure." Claude's head rolled on his shoulders, and he glanced around them. The stonework _was_ beautiful, and ornate, and the way the city's architecture weaved around the canals was breathtaking. She just hated it. "I guess so. If you like this sort of thing?"

"Is that a question?"

"Is it?"

Lysithea made a short noise, like a cough and a groan, and Edelgard glanced at her. She had her arms folded across her chest, and she looked expectant.

"What?" Claude asked her innocently, beating Edelgard to the question.

Coming out of Claude's mouth, somehow the innocent word sounded so much more incriminating.

Lysithea rolled her eyes, and she was the first to stand. She stood before the boat even stopped moving, and she paid their driver with a few coins before climbing up onto the dock and leaving them both sitting there.

"What's that about?" Edelgard asked.

Claude looked genuinely alarmed. He glanced at Edelgard, and he shrugged.

"Maybe she's jealous I'm sitting next to you," he said brightly.

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Claude's smile with now toothy and sly, like he knew something she didn't. "I'd be jealous of me if I was her."

"Oh," Edelgard said with a small laugh, "I'm sure you would be."

She got up then, ignoring how the boat rocked, and she gathered up the skirt of her dress as she stepped onto the dock. She did not offer her help to Claude, nor did she turn to look at him. It was only about halfway up the dock that she realized how petty she was being, and she turned around to see that Claude was still in the boat, half standing, half crouching.

With a small sigh, she shook away her pride and marched back to the edge of the dock.

"Here," she said.

Her hand stretched out to him, and he looked up at her with mild shock clear in his eyes. He seemed to blink it away fast enough, but she saw it, and she knew that in his heart he did not expect her to stick around.

How could she even say he was wrong? She _couldn't_ stick around.

Yet here she was. Coming back once again.

"Claude," she said impatiently. "I do not know what Alliance customs are like, but when someone offers a hand, it's polite to take it."

"Huh," Claude said absently. She was grateful he did not mention how she had ignored his same gesture of good will earlier. He steadied himself as he stood, gripping his cane tightly. "Are we being polite?"

"Just take my hand, Claude."

He did. His fingers were dry and bony. He gripped her as she pulled him from the boat, ignoring how the water lapped at the dock, how close she seemed to tripping into it, and he stumbled a bit as she grabbed his shoulder and looked up at him wildly.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine."

His voice was shaky and thin. He held onto her hand with both of his, and his cane bit into her knuckles.

Very gently, Edelgard raised his hands up between them, and she peered into his eyes.

"Do you need to hold onto me while we walk?" she asked, very much serious, and very much needing him to admit that he could not do this himself.

"No," he said firmly.

But because he wouldn't, she had to sigh, and she had to glare at him.

"Then please," she said, "let my hands go."

Because if he would not ask for help, who was she to aid him?

 _I promised,_ she thought. _I promised Lysithea I would._

Claude had dropped her hands almost as soon as she'd spoken, and in doing so, he looked pained. He put his cane to the dock, and he moved slowly around her.

The instant he nearly toppled into the lake, she grabbed him by the sleeve and steadied him.

"You couldn't say yes?" she demanded, finding herself frustrated with him.

He stared at her, a little bit dazed, and he looked almost hurt. He glanced away from her, and he said nothing.

"I'm walking with you," she said firmly, linking their arms and leading him forward. With both his cane and someone to lean up against, he faired much better. He did not speak for a good while, probably too focused on walking to think of anything else.

Lysithea was waiting for them by a statue not too far from the dock. She had her arms folded across her chest as she gazed at them expectantly.

"Your face," Claude said as they passed her, "might get stuck like that if you're not… you know." He waved at Lysithea offhandedly. "Careful."

"Stuck like _what_?" Lysithea demanded. Edelgard peered back at her while Claude seemed keen to keep walking. Her face was even more pinched and indignant now. "Claude. _Claude_."

The fortress in Derdriu was a squat building with high arches and geometrically arranged limestone bricks. Dusk had settled upon the city, and the sky and the canals met one another in the same foggy grayish hue. Iron street lanterns lined the road to the palace, and young men and women could be seen lighting the candles with long rods, bathing the stones beneath their feet in a warm yellow hue. The stones were not cobble, but steadily worn brick, so old and weathered by centuries of feat that the herringbone pattern gleamed in the lanternlight.

Edelgard had never seen a palace quite like this, and it did strike her as beautiful.

"This way," Claude said, jerking his chin in the direction of a door that was not so big or fancy or ornate as one would expect. The minute they reached it, he placed a hand on her arm and gently removed himself from her grasp. She stared at him, unsure, but it was not as though she could force him to let her help him. She hung back beside Lysithea as he spoke casually with a knight, who seemed a bit alarmed, and pulled the door open.

They walked through a corridor, their footsteps echoing softly on the lofty ceilings, and Claude's cane clicked in an unsteady rhythm against the brick.

She had not asked him what he thought his grandfather would say or do in response to this. Her own father was not exactly a model to refer to, as he had been so relieved that she had survived the ordeal that he hadn't cared much about anything else. Lysithea's parents were a closer match to Claude's situation, but they seemed just as relieved as her father to know that Lysithea was still here with them.

Something told Edelgard Duke Riegan might not react with relief upon seeing Claude like this.

Another knight appeared, and Claude spoke to her as well. She had stared at Claude for a straight minute as he spoke, explaining quickly that he had brought friends that needed rooms, and that he would speak to his grandfather whenever an audience was open.

"Oh," the knight said, jerking back in alarm. "Forgive me, Claude! I… I didn't realize—"

"It's okay, Avery," Claude told the knight gently. "I look different. I understand that."

"No, no," Avery gasped, "you look— well, you do look a bit different, but it's not a bad thing. It just confused me for a moment. Really, I do apologize."

"You're fine," Claude said, smiling at her. "I…" Claude's smile seemed to fall in an instant as a tall woman rounded the corner, the knight from the entrance trailing behind her.

The woman, whose slim face and piercing eyes seemed to zone in on Claude like a bird that had caught its prey, stopped dead in her tracks. She and Claude stared at each other for a moment, as if they expected the other to speak first, and so they were locked in a stalemate.

"I was told you'd arrived," the woman said, blinking at Claude with a frown, "but I did not expect to be greeted by a ghost boy."

Claude opened his mouth, but the only sound that came out was strangled and small. He looked surprised at himself, and the woman's eyes widened.

"Ghost boy?" Lysithea snapped, her voice echoing off the rafters and falling viciously all around them. "Perhaps you should get spectacles, ma'am, since you clearly have difficulty seeing what is right in front of you."

"Oh, I see him just fine," the woman said, her eyes narrowing at Lysithea. "You, though? I nearly looked right over you. Do you eat, child, or is your stature genetic?"

"Judith!" Claude choked out, stepping quickly between the woman, Judith, and Lysithea. Edelgard had snatched the girl by her shoulders and clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent her from legitimately hexing the woman.

Lysithea's teeth sunk into Edelgard's hand, and with a gasp Edelgard released her.

"Did you just _bite_ me?" she hissed into the girl's ear.

"Maybe." Lysithea's cheeks were puffed out indignantly as she glared over Edelgard's shoulder at Judith.

"Well," Edelgard murmured, "I can't say it didn't hurt. Perhaps save it for someone who actually means to hurt you next time, hm?"

Lysithea did not respond, as she was still glowering at Judith, who looked generally rather unimpressed. She placed her hand on her hip and turned her attention back to Claude, her darkly painted lips tugged into a small frown.

"Speaking of eating," she said, her eyes raking over him, "have _you_ eaten a thing since I last saw you? I feel as though I am looking at a skeleton."

"Skeleton boy," Claude managed to mutter, "ghost boy. What else am I?"

Judith did not answer. Her gaze swept from his hair to his feet, and her eyes lingered on the cane in his fist. She pressed her lips together thinly, and she shook her head.

"Just a boy," she told him curtly. "You're just a boy. Come on, let's get you to Duke Riegan, shall we?"

With a sharp turn, Judith moved briskly forward while Claude remained wide eyed and still where he stood.

"Oh," Judith called, "and I'd advise not bringing your little posse along, boy."

Claude exhaled, and he glanced back at the two of them dazedly. He looked like he was about to fall over.

"Well," he said, his voice tight, "wish me luck."

And without another word, Claude disappeared after Judith, lifting his cane from the floor and making a grand effort to rectify his hobbling steps. The last Edelgard saw of him before he turned the corner, he seemed to truly do it. His shoulders rolled back, and he grew taller and surer with a simple façade.

She feared for him, though she did not say it.

The minute they were alone, Lysithea took a pillow from a plump chaise lounge and hurled it across the room. It bounced lazily off the wall and onto the floor.

"Easy," Edelgard said gently, taking Lysithea by the arms and pulling her onto the plump, golden couch. She looked both dazed and furious. "I know what that woman said bothers you, but—"

"How could she talk to Claude that way?" Lysithea snapped. Her voice was pitched in a way that made Edelgard wince a bit. The poor girl was close to tears. "Riegan _knows_ Claude was captured and tortured. My parents must have mentioned that he was in poor shape! Why would she say those things to him when he's clearly suffering?"

"Perhaps it was for his benefit," Edelgard said gently, feeling the tiny girl's shoulders shake beneath her hands. "After all, they clearly know each other. I'm sure the woman noticed, and did not want to draw attention to it."

"She called him a ghost and a skeleton," Lysithea hissed, "how is that _not_ drawing attention to it?"

Edelgard couldn't respond. She was right on that front, and honestly, Edelgard was angry too. Yet she had been more concerned with reeling Lysithea in than in what had been said to Claude. Years and years of having Hubert at her back had taught her that it was more important to keep watch on the people she cared for than to worry about what words might do.

"Do you think Claude is strong?" Edelgard asked her, looking into her pale pink eyes and watching her jerk back in alarm.

"Of course," she gasped. She looked like she might cry, but with a deep, shuddering breath, she composed herself. "Of course I do. But being strong… it won't save him. Not from this. You should know that. This thing eats at you, and it becomes the parts of you that it's hollowed out, until you feel like all you ever were is gone and all you ever will be is defined by _Crests_."

Those words shook Edelgard to her core. _Crests_. The way that Lysithea spat the word, the pure disgust and unrestrained fury that made the girl's whole body tremble, it was enough that Edelgard began to see how truly alike they were.

Crests had ruined them. Crests had ruined the _world_.

"Perhaps," Edelgard said, her voice as blasé and distant as possible, "it would be better for the world of Crests did not exist."

"Not perhaps," Lysithea said bitterly. "It _would_ be better. For everyone."

Edelgard noted that. She did not smile or agree, but she noted it, and she gently pulled Lysithea closer, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and feeling her stiffen. After a moment or so, the girl relaxed a bit, and she lowered her head against Edelgard's shoulder.

"Claude's going to die," she murmured. "Because of _Crests_ , Claude is going to die."

"Don't say that." Edelgard looked down at Lysithea. She'd let her hair cover her face, and Edelgard knew why. She was truly upset now, and Edelgard's shoulder was damp. So Edelgard lifted her hand and rested it on Lysithea's head. "We don't know that. He could… he might survive this."

In response, Lysithea turned her face into Edelgard's shoulder. Her shoulders trembled, and her body shook, but she did not make a sound.

So, very gently, Edelgard cupped the back of Lysithea's head and held her tighter.

"I will do," Edelgard said, her voice suddenly hard and fierce, " _everything_ within my power to save you both. Do you understand me? I'll do it."

Lysithea's head remained cradled in Edelgard's hands, and she did not make a sound.

_I'll do it. I have to do it. To move forward, I must expunge the sins of yesterday. The sins of our ancestors. The very idea of Crests._

If she could save Lysithea, if she could save Claude, then she could save all of Fódlan.

It just had to start here.

* * *

"I find your ability to pick up strays entertaining," Judith said after they had reached the library. His grandfather was in a meeting, apparently, and Claude would not complain if he got to sit down and hide his cane. "Was that the Ordelia girl? There aren't two of them, are there?"

"The one who was arguing with you was Lysithea von Ordelia," Claude said tiredly, "yes."

"And the other isn't related to her in any way?" Judith's eyebrows shot upward in astonishment. "I would have bet on them being siblings."

Claude could not exactly blame her for that. He was seeing the similarities in Edelgard and Lysithea more and more.

"They're not sisters," Claude said amusedly, "no. You just had the pleasure of meeting Her Imperial Highness, Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg."

Judith, who had been pacing the carpeted library floor, froze momentarily to shoot him a strange, irritated look.

"You're not as funny as you think you are," she said coolly.

 _Uh-oh_ , Claude thought, shrinking a bit under Judith's stormy eyes. The intensity of even the briefest of glances reminded Claude of his mother. It was… unnerving, to say the least.

"I'm not joking," Claude said, not meeting Judith's hard stare. "I… I—"

"Why are you stammering?" Judith demanded. "What's wrong with you?"

"I—" Claude struggled to force the words out. He did not know if he'd ever had the words to start with. "I—"

"You?" Judith's brow pinched impatiently. "You? Are you going to close up like a delicate little flower when the Duke arrives, boy?"

"No." At least, Claude hoped he didn't. "I'm— It's not a joke. Edelgard's the Imperial Princess."

Judith's lips twisted in a faintly incredulously way. She eyed him, perhaps evaluating the validity of his claims with one shrewd glance, and then she scoffed and whirled away. Her ponytail whipped around her, and her curls bounced at her back as she paced the floor of the library once more.

"You may be more foolish than I anticipated," Judith murmured, biting on the cuticle of her thumb as she passed him once, twice, thrice. "The Imperial Princess? Really? Your grandfather—"

"I can handle my grandfather," Claude said fiercely.

"Can you?" Judith's eyes roved to his very sharply. He couldn't help but flinch. "You are his heir, and yet… look at you."

" _Thanks_ , Judith."

"I don't mean it as an insult, boy," Judith sighed, shaking her head. "I am _concerned_. If you are too weak to lead to Alliance—"

"Too weak?"

A chill shot through Claude as he momentarily sank deeper into his seat. Then, with a sigh, he straightened himself up and turned his face to the doorway. His grandfather stood there, stone-faced and resolute. Ever since arriving to this country, Claude had searched his grandfather's face a hundred times for even a portion of his mother's. Out of desperation, out of a need to belong.

Their eyes were the same color, but that was all there was.

"Go on, Judith," his grandfather said, stepping into the room. "How is my grandson too weak to carry on my legacy?"

With a sharp glance, Judith told Claude that he needed to speak. Her tongue dragged across her teeth as she turned slowly to face Duke Riegan.

Claude's grandfather was not an especially tall man. Claude's mother was taller. His uncle had been too. Yet what he lacked in height, he made up for in his imposing demeanor and stony façade. He was not exactly a kind man, but he did care deeply about Claude. Even before Claude had been made the man's heir, his grandfather had taken to him in a way that had surprised Claude. He'd been open to Claude, and helpful, and when it came down to it, he had not been ashamed when he had told Claude that he would pass him the title of Duke Riegan.

It had been Claude's grandfather, in a way, that had shown him that people's attitudes could change. They only needed to begin to care.

"Grandfather," Claude began, "I—"

"I was speaking to the Baron von Daphnel," his grandfather said sharply. "Not you, Claude."

Judith clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth, and she shot Claude a small smile. She placed her hands on her hips and stared at Duke Riegan with her intense, stormy eyes.

"Come now, Caius," Judith said, tipping her head to the side. "You know I meant no offense."

"Somehow," Duke Riegan sighed, "I find that hard to believe."

"Believe what you want. I care for the boy just as much as you do, and you know it."

"Do not start that with me," Caius von Riegan said in a low, harsh tone. He did not so much as glance at Claude. "How I train my grandson for his duties is my business. We have been over this."

"He does not _know_ his duties, because you had him as your heir for about six months before you sent him packing for Garreg Mach!" Judith snapped. The viciousness of her voice surprised Claude, and he blinked between the two of them in a daze. He had never heard Judith say she cared about him before, and it struck him very hard to imagine that she might have been his advocate when his back was turned. "Godfrey had decades to learn how to be Duke Riegan. You had him doing _everything_! Pushing trade, settling skirmishes, going on diplomatic missions. You were going to marry him to a Galatea!"

"For House Daphnel's benefit," Caius hissed, "if you recall."

"I can handle my fractured house quite fine, thank you," Judith said breezily. "I just want to know why you are treating Claude as though he is ready to be Duke, when it is very clear that he _can't_ be ready."

"Um…" Claude said weakly, "may I say something?"

"In a moment, boy," Judith said, "the adults are talking."

 _Why do I feel like I am at home,_ he thought dazedly. If he closed his eyes and let himself drift into his own mind, he could imagine himself curled up in a fox pelt, frowning as his mother and father went at each other viciously, talking about his _future_ and how a king should fight with swords and axes as well as bows and poisons. Talking about what minor Almyran noble they could marry him off to.

His father's clear indignance when his mother had suggested looking to the west for a bride, and the ensuing fight that had been entirely hypocritical on both ends.

Claude wanted to go to sleep just thinking about it.

"You seem quite prepared to lecture me," Caius said, "yet you have not offered a single solution to this so-called problem of Claude not being, as you say, _ready_. Perhaps he is not ready, but as it happens, he does not need to be. I am still Duke Riegan, and he still has time to learn."

"But I _don't_ ," Claude cut in desperately. Both Judith and Caius shot him chilly glances. Caius's stony face prevented him from looking anything but irritated, while Judith's expression pinched in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Judith asked. It was a confused sort of question, but she said it much gentler than Claude expected.

Claude dodged his grandfather's eyes, choosing instead to focus on Judith. She looked at him with apprehension building in her gaze, and her eyes swiveled to where his cane was buried in the seat cushion.

"Claude," Judith said. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't you have time?"

"I—" Claude searched the room, like the words he needed would be written on the walls. The walls were books, after all. Rows and rows of books, and none of them could spell out _I'm dying_. Not for him. "It's… I'm—"

"Cat got your tongue?" his grandfather asked sharply, startling Claude so hard he lost the words he was looking for. "In all the years I've known you, I never heard you at a loss for words."

 _Maybe_ , Claude thought in angry, shame-filled embarrassment, _you should wonder why_.

"You haven't known me for that long," Claude murmured, glaring at his hands as they trembled in his lap. "I'll be honest… do you even know me at all?"

His grandfather was silent as he stared down at Claude. It was difficult to meet the man's eyes. After all, those eyes were his mother's eyes, and his mother's eyes were his eyes. He felt a little sick thinking about it. How long had he been here, playing at a dukedom that would never accept him?

"Obviously," his grandfather said curtly, "you have some things on your mind. Would you like to share, Claude?"

"Yes." Claude finally raised his gaze, and he blinked up into his grandfather's eyes and watched an empty reflection of his own glower at him. "Are you even going to ask how I'm doing?"

"You are alive," Caius said. "I thought that said enough."

Claude's eyes flashed wide, and he could not help but spit a laugh. He sank into his seat, and he laughed, and he laughed, and he kept laughing until he realized that his laughter was holding the place of the screams and sobs he'd left behind in Adestria. He laughed because he was so tired, and he did not understand how no one seemed to notice.

Maybe dying would be a relief.

"Claude," Judith gasped, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him hard. " _Claude_!"

He laughed in her face. He laughed until there were tears streaming down his face, and he laughed until his grandfather stepped up to him and smacked him hard on the mouth.

His laughter died in an instant. He sat there, tears hot on his cheeks, and he stared at the gold woven threads in the carpet with wide, dazed eyes.

Judith knelt beside him, her hands still steady on his shoulders, and she searched his face.

"Good heavens, boy," she murmured. "What _happened_ to you?"

He pressed his lips together, tasting the brine of his tears as they gathered between his mouth and nose, and he scraped his face with his nails and his knuckles, sniffling hard. He had expected his jaw to hurt, but it didn't. His grandfather had not smacked him hard, he realized. He'd just hit him with enough force to jolt him.

"I don't know," he admitted. Because as terrible as it had been, he truly could not understand how or why it had all happened. He remembered being in a cell, and that clownish woman coming for him, and he remembered the pain of it, but he could not explain the details. "After I was captured… I was tortured, and my blood was taken, and I still don't know what happened with that. But by the end of it, my memory is hazy. I don't know—"

He pushed his shaky knuckles to his mouth and bit down. There were scars on him now that he did not recognize. Around his wrists and arms. Other places too. Bruises that didn't go away. He did not recognize himself anymore. Not his body, not his mind.

"Claude," his grandfather said. His voice was much gentler than before, and Claude looked up at him in alarm. His face was as impassive and stony as ever, but his eyes…

Ah. It was all in the eyes, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry," Claude said, his voice strangely vacant. "I'm sorry I— I've ruined it all for you. I've botched up your legacy."

"You haven't," Caius said firmly. "You're still here, are you not?"

"Am I?" Claude asked, searching his grandfather's face dazedly. "It doesn't feel like I am."

The minute he said it, Claude wanted to run. He did not even explain, and he did not _want_ to. He'd never wanted to run and hide more than now.

Judith sat down beside him. She was glancing between him and his grandfather, and they seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes. Claude couldn't stand it.

"I can't be your heir," he said finally, feeling the weight of it all crush him. When Caius von Riegan turned his startling green eyes to Claude, those eyes were dead as dirt. "I _can't_ be. I'm sorry. I know you hoped I could fill in the hole that— that my uncle left, that my mother left, but I just…"

"Why?" his grandfather demanded. So much for that gentleness. So much for the kinship that Claude had felt not five minutes earlier.

"I—" Once more, the words would not come. He felt like there was something lodged in his throat and in his brain. "I'm—"

"Speak _up_ , Claude!"

He wanted to cry again, but his brain was on ice, so he just stared at his grandfather with a gaping mouth, and he blinked until his grandfather scoffed and turned away sharply.

"I won't listen to a child who makes excuses," he said, marching toward the door. "We will have dinner in an hour. Bring your guests, if you please, and do not speak of denying your birthright again. I lost your mother to such talk, and I have no intention of losing you."

Claude sat in the chair in silence as the door slammed behind Caius. Judith was still beside him, and she was looking down at him with wide eyes.

"You need to tell me," she said, "what happened."

"I can't."

"Even if it's unspeakable, you _must_."

"I don't _remember_ ," he gasped, looking up at her wildly. "Really, I don't! I— I know the result. I know I'm— and I— my words, I lose them. I lose time, too. I lose sensations in my limbs sometimes. All I want to do is sleep. I— I'm dying."

The minute he said it, he wanted to sink into the floor and then into the earth and disintegrate.

Judith sat beside him, her gaze fixed upon his face, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Dying," she said flatly. "As in…?"

"I'm going to die, Judith."

"When?"

"I don't know."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

He did not know. But he did sense her irritation, so he remained silent. The second Crest within him, that he could sense at every turn, was turning him inside out.

"Who told you this?" Judith searched him. She looked ready to tear out someone's throat with her teeth. "You said you were tortured, but _how_ were you tortured?"

"It— I—" He winced. He looked down at the sleeve of his purple shirt, the one that Ganymede von Ordelia had given him, and he unbuttoned it carefully before edging it up his arm. The various scars that had somewhat healed peaked out from the bandages. Judith took his hand and stretched out his arm. "They mixed my blood. I— I think Edelgard called it a— a— um—"

"How does Edelgard von Hresvelg know about it?" Judith demanded. "Were you not found in Ordelia? Was she not found in Adestria? Perhaps you should not trust her."

"I don't."

"You brought her here," Judith said, dropping his hand. "You realize how that looks, don't you? Your grandfather will not be happy if you decide to court the girl—"

"Why is that your first assumption?" Claude frowned deeply. It wasn't fair to Edelgard. She was accompanying him despite clearly abandoning _something_ at Garreg Mach, and staking a lot on traveling alongside him. Yet everywhere she went, it seemed people assumed that she was attached to him as a lover rather than a companion. "She has shown me more kindness and acceptance than _either_ of you have here. She did not have to come find me after we were separated, but she did come, because she genuinely cares about how I— how I _feel_ and how I'm _doing_ , and that's more than I can say for you _or_ Caius!"

"Ooh, back to calling him Caius now?" Judith rolled her eyes. "Claude, that girl is a viper. Cut her loose."

"I'd sooner cut you loose," Claude mumbled, "if you aren't going to listen to me."

"I _am_ listening."

"You don't believe I'm dying."

"I don't know how to!" Judith threw her hands up exasperatedly. "Yes, you've gotten weaker, and yes, you look awful—"

"Thanks, Judith."

"— but you seem fine, otherwise."

"Do I need to cough up blood?" Claude scowled at her. "C'mon, Judith! Open your eyes! My life's over. I can't stay here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Claude sighed, "that I'm leaving."

"When?"

"I can't tell you."

"You think I'd stop you?" Judith scoffed, and she knocked her knuckles against the side of his head. It was almost affectionate. "Boy, I'm half the reason you exist. Who do you think distracted Duke Goneril while your mother snuck over the border?"

"Ew," Claude said weakly.

"You know I care about you," Judith said, a softness blanketing her tone as she gazed down at him, "right?"

"I… I know, Judith."

"Then _talk_ to me."

But he _had_ talked to her. He'd told her the truth, but she didn't believe him. Or maybe she thought he was deluding himself. Either way, it hurt.

"I'm dying," he said. It sounded surer than before. "So is Lysithea. Judith, what happened to me has happened before. It will happen again. I don't know how long I'll live, if I will last the week, the month, the year, or the decade, but I _will_ die because of this. If I am going to die, I don't want to..."

Judith inhaled very sharply, and she sat in silence for a minute or so, taking it all in. Perhaps his words had finally settled in her brain, and now she felt as lost as he was.

"Is this the last I'll see of you?" she murmured.

"Probably."

Judith nodded. She placed her hand on the top of his head, and she pulled him close so she could bury her cheek in his hair.

"Clever boy," she murmured. "You're too smart to die like this. Come back to me when you're better."

"Judith…"

"No." Judith held him tighter. "No excuses. Riegan heir or not, I want you to come back to Fódlan. I want to see you in five years, and I want you to say, 'Look, Judith, you were right. I'm all better, and there was nothing to worry about!'"

A single tear managed to escape from his eye. He was thankful that she could not see it. Crying once in front of her was enough.

"Okay," he said weakly. It was a lie, but he did not want to fight with her anymore. "Okay, Judith."

"Good boy."

Claude allowed his head to fall upon her shoulder. He stared ahead of him, and he thought about how different his life would have been if his mother had abandoned his father and raised him here. How much closer he might have been to Judith, who he already felt a sort of kinship with considering how she and his mother had been as close as sisters. How his uncle might not have been more or less disgusted by him, how his grandfather might have seen him as a worthy successor from the very start.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep, and he dreamt of a little boy in a yellow doublet throwing pebbles into canals.

* * *

Dinner was a strange affair. Edelgard had worn a skirt in anticipation of meeting Duke Riegan, but she also knew that she needed to make a good impression as Adestria's future emperor. She scooped her hair into an elegant bun at the top of her head, while the piece of hair that framed her face remained loose. Lysithea came out with a similar look, only her hair was netted in an amethyst cage. While Edelgard wore a simple skirt and shirt, Lysithea wore a bold purple dress— perhaps to remind Duke Riegan that she was of Ordelia, and Ordelia was not broken yet.

Claude was conspicuously missing from the table. Edelgard bowed her head respectfully to the Duke before sitting down. Lysithea followed the suit, though she curtsied rather than bowed.

"Duke Riegan," Lysithea said curtly. "I don't know if you remember me—"

"Do you imagine my memory is so poor that I do not recall the lone daughter of House Ordelia?" Riegan's eyebrow arched at Lysithea, who stared at him blankly. "You _have_ grown some, I'll admit— you are a young woman now. Hardly that little girl playing in the gardens at all."

"She still plays in the gardens," Edelgard said delicately. Lysithea shot her a strange look. "Perhaps she is more discreet now than she was as a child, though."

Duke Riegan's gaze landed on her. He frowned a bit. It was about then that Edelgard realized that Claude had not mentioned her to the man.

"I am Edelgard von Hresvelg," she said, draw her hand to her chest and pulling a smile. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Duke Riegan. I fear our countries have not had enough communication, and I would happily bridge that gap if it please you."

Duke Riegan had a face like a marble statue. His jaw was tight, or perhaps it had been clenched this whole time, and he gazed at her dully for a moment as though she herself was a painting that he could scrutinize at will.

"Hresvelg," he repeated. He blinked. "My grandson brought you?"

"Yes," Edelgard said, her smile never slipping. "Is that a problem?"

"I could hardly turn away such an esteemed guest," Duke Riegan said. "I am merely surprised. I recall that you two were captured together, but you turned up quite safe and sound weeks ago. Am I wrong?"

"No, that is true."

"So," Duke Riegan said, sitting down and forcing Lysithea and Edelgard to sit in turn, "you must excuse me for asking, but… why are you here?"

Lysithea met her eye beside her. The seat on Duke Riegan's right was reserved for Claude, but he was not here.

"In all honesty," Edelgard said carefully, "I… am worried for your grandson, Duke Riegan. I spent time with him, while we were in captivity, and I believe that he is genuinely very kind. He did not deserve what happened to him."

"And what happened to him," Duke Riegan said, " _exactly_?"

Edelgard's eyes flashed to his confusedly. She knew what he was implying before he even finished speaking, but she could not find it in her to express the guilt she felt. Because she was annoyed.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean," Duke Riegan said, "that you two were together. Could you enlighten me on the details of what my grandson has gone through?"

"Surely he told you," Edelgard blurted. After all, Claude had made it clear that he was responding to these summons if only to tell his grandfather he was dying.

"He seemed a bit tongue tied." Duke Riegan eyed her. "If you know Claude, Princess, I think you will find that is unlike him."

"I do know Claude," she said carefully, "and I recognize that his behavior might be troubling. However, the reason for it is that he was brutally tortured before he was left to die, so you must excuse him if you have difficulty understanding him."

There was a barely concealed bite to her tone that she knew both Lysithea and Duke Riegan picked up. He stared at her, his green eyes fixed upon her face, and she realized with a start that Claude had inherited those eyes. Only where Duke Riegan had eyes like two stones pushed into his skull, Claude's gaze held warmth and joy and sorrow and rage. Claude had taken this man's eyes and imbued life in them.

"Did these nameless foes torture him to insanity?" Duke Riegan asked boldly. "Do you have an explanation for any of this, Princess, or shall I just accept that you escaped unscathed?"

"I do not like what you are implying, sir."

"I do not like your tone, Princess."

"Mmm!" Lysithea hummed through a tight smile. "This soup is delicious! Don't you think so, Edelgard?"

"I'm sure it is, Lysithea." Edelgard appreciated what the girl was doing, but she simply could not bother to listen to the clear warning in her voice. "Duke Riegan, I cannot say who did this to Claude. I do not know them by their names, if they have names at all, and I can scarcely recall their faces. But I do know who they are, as they tormented me many years ago, and I would appreciate it if you did not take my empathy for your grandson's plight as something more sinister. If you think he's gone mad because he has been traumatized, that is _your_ issue to sort out, not his. I think he is incredibly strong, and if you cannot see his strength because you are blinded by an image of an heir that will never be, I suggest you knock the scales from your eyes and _look_."

As she spoke, she heard the door open behind her. She did not waver, however, and she kept her gaze steady as she stared into Duke Riegan's cold green eyes. He would understand, she decided, that she was not here to play games or to make friends. She was here because Claude was suffering, and that was all.

Duke Riegan's eyes slid from her face as the soft click of a cane broke the silence. Edelgard did not bother to glance at Claude as he moved slowly around the table. The woman who had aggravated Lysithea pulled out Claude's chair for him, and he nodded to her gratefully.

He lowered himself into his seat, and Edelgard stared at him intensely. Though his face was still a rather sickly hue, his hair had been smoothed back with the sort of carefully arranged messiness that Edelgard had grown accustomed to with Claude. His braid hung lazily at his cheek, and his eyes flashed to hers meaningfully.

The yellow doublet he wore was quilted with embroidered antlers. The chemise he wore beneath it was ruffled at his neck, and the sleeves of the doublet were slashed to allow a peek at the white linen beneath. He looked every inch a nobleman, and that surprised her.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Claude said, his voice at ease and his smile lazy. "I honestly fell asleep. If not for Judith's grating voice, I may not have arrived at all."

"You are turning into Linhardt," Edelgard said, "with all that you sleep."

Claude's smile widened. "If only I was as blasé as Linhardt," he said. "I wish I could cast my worries to the wind as easily as taking a long nap."

"Are you not blasé?"

"Are you implying that I don't care about my duties?"

"I think you put on a very good show of pretending like you don't care."

"Oh, you wound me," he laughed. "Shall I become so deathly serious that nobody knows me from my shield, Lady Edelgard?"

"Don't tell me," Edelgard said gazing at him shrewdly, "you cannot tell the difference between Hubert and I?"

At that, she watched as Claude's eyes shot very wide, and he choked on a bright and disbelieving laugh. He turned his head to stifle his snorts into his hand, and Edelgard sat there with a self-satisfied smirk while Lysithea hid her face with a napkin.

Meanwhile, the woman, Judith, and Duke Riegan glanced between Edelgard and Claude with the same inscrutable look. Judith sat down decidedly beside Claude, and she elbowed him as he continued to laugh. This forced him to settle down.

"Are you quite done, Claude?" Duke Riegan asked. He sounded angry.

"Yes." Claude bowed his head apologetically. "I'm sorry. Edelgard is not exactly the funniest person in Garreg Mach, so she just surprised me."

"Thank you?" Edelgard frowned at him. "I cannot tell if you just paid me a compliment or if you have insulted me."

"Now," Claude said cheekily, "why should I ever insult you?"

"I could think of several reasons," Edelgard replied, "though I suppose it boils down to an inferiority complex."

"Don't be silly," Claude said. "I don't have a complex, I'm not Dimitri. Moreover, I'm glad to admit when I'm beaten, and I don't need to insult you to feel better about myself. Try again, Princess."

"Enough," Duke Riegan hissed. " _Enough_ , the two of you."

Edelgard and Claude continued to stare at each other, and Claude's eyebrows shot up in a comedically exaggerated way. He pressed his lips together until they disappeared, and he tipped his head away from his grandfather as he regained his composure.

"Is something the matter, Grandfather?" Claude asked, shooting what seemed to be a genuinely concerned glance the man's way. "I thought you wanted me to… ah, what was it… speak _up_?"

Duke Riegan lowered his head against his steepled fingers.

"Claude," he said, sounding very tired, "why have you brought the Imperial Princess here?"

"Excuse me?" Claude asked flatly.

Under the table, Edelgard felt someone snatch her hand. It was small and cool, and she knew immediately that Lysithea was nervous by the way she gripped her.

"Why is she here?" Duke Riegan gestured to Edelgard as though she was not actually sitting right there. "Is this the reason why you feel you cannot be my heir?"

"What?" Claude's expression twisted confusedly. "What do you— _oh_."

"I told you," Duke Riegan said, "I _told_ you, Claude, I will not do this again."

"It's not—" Claude glanced at Edelgard, and a strange flicker of guilt was visible in his eyes for a moment before he composed himself. "Listen to me. I will not— I can't—"

"Again," Duke Riegan sighed, "with the _stammering_. I cannot listen to you if you are speaking nonsense!"

"I'm _trying_ ," Claude gasped. "You just are an impatient old fool! Listen to me! I'm sorry my mother hurt you the way she did, but I am not telling you that I cannot carry your legacy because of some love affair. If I was, do you really think I'd bring said lover into your house and flaunt her so blatantly?"

"Your mother did."

 _What?_ Edelgard blinked at Claude in shock. _That's it? His mother ran off with someone? That's the reason why he appeared so suddenly?_

It seemed like a fairytale. She tried to imagine a younger Claude, clever and carefree, being sat down and told that he was not a commoner at all. It must have been a great shock to him.

A lot of things about Claude suddenly made sense. She felt a pang of regret for not paying more attention to him.

"If only I could be so bold as Gertrude von Riegan," Claude said icily. His sudden change in demeanor made Lysithea squirm in her seat. She clearly wanted to speak, and Edelgard squeezed her hand reassuringly so she would keep her mouth shut. This was clearly between grandfather and grandson.

"You do not understand," Duke Riegan said. "You cannot understand, because you are still a child. Judith is right— you are not ready to be Duke, and that is _my_ fault."

"It is not your fault," Claude snapped, "because you didn't _do_ anything! You had no part in my life until three years ago! Like it or not, you are not responsible for me. I grew up far away from your influence, and if I did become Duke Riegan then you would find that I would do things _my_ way, not yours. But it will never happen. It is a dream now. Take it to your grave, if you like. I will take it to mine."

They sat in silence then. It blanketed them, it consumed them, and Edelgard pushed her soup around with her spoon. It was cold now. She took to the wine instead, wishing that she could say something, anything, but realizing that she had no clue what Claude's life had been like. As he hadn't a clue to hers.

"So," Judith said, her spoon sticking out of her mouth, "how about this soup?"

"Yes," Lysithea said eagerly, "it's delicious, isn't it?"

* * *

The night had ended rather abruptly. His grandfather was angry, and Claude was angrier, and the whole thing was a mess. He could not seem to find a way to tell Caius that he was dying, and he did not think the man would believe him even if he did. After all, Judith had trouble believing him, and she had no stake in his future.

Edelgard was surprising him more and more. He'd walked in on her defending him, and more than that, he found himself being able to string sentences together when he spoke to her. Their chiding banter, their teasing arguments, it soothed him in a way he had not known he'd needed.

He felt almost like himself, playing word games with Edelgard von Hresvelg.

After dinner, which he had pretty unceremoniously dismissed himself from, he'd gone back to his room. It was the same room he'd secluded himself in three years ago upon coming to Fódlan, pushing the books that he'd left behind on his bed onto the floor and curling up in his crumpled gold duvet. There was so much _gold_ here. Golden arches, golden floors, golden carpets, golden ceilings. He felt like someone had poured gold down his throat and he was downing in it.

This room had been his mother's once. His uncle had told him that.

"Try not to sully it," he'd all but spat at Claude, who had been an unusually small fifteen-year-old still reeling from the revelation that his mother had been the daughter of a foreign duke.

It had been his uncle's chilliness that had caused Claude to shutter up any sense of his Almyran heritage. If his mother's brother could not see past his apparent "savagery," then someone who had absolutely no reason to trust him wouldn't either. His grandfather had been distant too, at that point, so it had been... difficult.

Claude was thankful that he had been in Almyra when Godfrey had died. There had been many witnesses, and ultimately it had been a lover's quarrel gone horribly wrong. If Claude had still been in Derdriu when it had happened, he feared someone might have whispered to his grandfather that it was Claude's scheming that had led to Godfrey's death.

Though, in fairness, Claude had warned Godfrey that his skirt-chasing would end badly. At fifteen, Claude had found himself becoming his uncle's keeper and consoling the women left behind by his escapades. He had even slipped some of the girls a rather nasty concoction of a few specific herbs and roots, which was not something he was exactly proud of, but a few of them had come back to thank him. One girl, Anya, had hand delivered him a book of poetry written in an ancient Adestrian dialect.

"Have you ever considered," Claude had said, hunched over his desk in this very room as his uncle had paced the floor, "marrying one of these girls?"

"You are beginning to sound like my father."

"Perhaps you should listen to him." Claude remembered how he had added rue to his mortar, which was filled with other such herbs, and how he'd crushed the small yellow flowers and pointed green leaves into the stone. "You've been messing up, you know. He's noticed the girls, and one of these days I'm not going to be here to stop the mess before it hits you."

Godfrey, who was a nice and noble man to everyone but Claude, had glared at him. Those green eyes that reflected his had been irritated, furious, and more than that, _scared_.

It wasn't that Godfrey had hated Claude. Toward the end, in some strange and twisted way, Claude thought he might have been Godfrey's most trusted confidant and closest friend. But Godfrey had so clearly seen Claude as lesser than him, and sometimes that made Claude furious to this day.

He had wanted an uncle, someone like Nader, someone who would teach him about Fódlan's customs and tell him stories about his mother when she'd been young. Instead he'd gotten an infuriating liar who seemed to have inherited all of the Riegan charm and none of the compassion or cunning. He could certainly turn a lie like no one else, but the more time Claude had spent with him, the more he'd worried for the Alliance's future.

There had been a reason he'd jumped at the chance to become Caius's heir.

"Claude," Godfrey had said, "what have I said? You're too young to understand."

"I'm too young to understand," Claude had said, rolling his eyes, "yet old enough to make this. Funny how that works."

"I don't question your Almyran magic, okay?" Godfrey had said impatiently.

"It's not magic," Claude had muttered. "Any old doctor could put this together with the right resources. Honestly, I'm only doing this because I feel bad for the girls that _you_ screw over."

"Sure. Are you done?"

Claude had stared down at his mortar and pestle bitterly.

Nothing was going to change here. No one was going to look at him and take him seriously. Not unless he did something about it. Not unless he took Fódlan by the throat and made it look, made it listen, made it possible for people like him to get a word in.

Now he thought of Godfrey, and he felt sad for him. After all, Godfrey had not been the heir his whole life. Claude's mother had been Caius's successor for nearly twenty years before she'd met Claude's father. Godfrey had been flung into the role as heir, and on the surface he had done very well. Not even Judith knew the extent of Godfrey's follies.

When Godfrey had died, Claude had returned to pay his respects. He had not expected anything special. Caius had brought Claude to his uncle's grave, Claude had left a special token that his mother had given him to place there, and then they had gone back to Caius's personal chamber. They had played a very long game of chess, and then Caius had looked at Claude very intensely.

"You are not my daughter," he'd said, "and you are not my son. But you are a clever boy, and you care deeply, even when you try to hide it. Perhaps the Alliance needs a man of strategy, a man of empathy, to carry us into a new age."

"What are you saying?" Claude had asked. He knew, of course, what his grandfather had been saying. He had just been shocked to hear Caius actually say it.

"I do not wish to burden you," Caius had said, "because I do understand that this is a heavy burden. The Alliance needs a strong leader, and for a long time now, the Duke of Riegan has been that leader. I cannot expect you to split your attention between two countries, but if you choose to, I would gladly negotiate the terms with your mother."

"She probably won't talk to you," Claude had admitted. "Besides, I can settle the terms of my life well enough on my own, thanks."

So it had been decided. Claude had admitted to his grandfather that he did not intend to stay forever, and his grandfather understood that.

Except Claude had broken the terms, not Caius. Claude had promised to stay and become Duke Riegan in his grandfather's place the instant his grandfather felt he was unable to continue. Claude had promised to do his best, and while he led the Alliance with all that was in him, he would find a successor.

His grandfather had suggested marrying him to a noblewoman. Marianne and Hilda's names had been thrown at him before he had even met them, and though he loved them dearly now, and thought any man would be lucky to be their husband, the thought of marrying anyone at that moment had seemed daunting.

"Your wife could manage Riegan," his grandfather had explained, "and you could take your eldest child with you back to Almyra to be your heir there."

"While my wife sits alone in Derdriu raising my other heir alone?" Claude had felt sick thinking about it. "No thanks."

He and Hilda had laughed about it later. Thinking about it now, while he hugged his fluffy gold duvet to him, he realized how much he missed Hilda. What would she think if she could see him now? Dead in the eyes and running through the motions.

 _She would insult my hair color,_ he thought, _and then she would ask when I moisturized my face last._

He laughed aloud at the thought, and he wished that he had gotten the chance to go to Garreg Mach one last time. He would have done something for the Golden Deer. Perhaps he still could. Not in person, but still.

Claude got up from his bed and went to his desk. He was amused to see there was still dried rue at the bottom of his mortar, which he hadn't used since Godfrey was alive. He lit his lamp and got to work.

Each letter was individualized. He addressed it to each Deer, and he thanked them all for their kindness and generosity.

His letter to Byleth got a little too long, and he nearly scrapped the whole thing.

He also nearly fell asleep a few times, but he forced himself to keep writing.

When he began writing his letter to Lysithea, he began crying. He realized it when his ink smudged a bit, and he cursed himself, because he needed to start over again.

After that, he thought on it for a minute before he began a new letter. This one came quicker. When he was done, he wrote Edelgard's name in his quick and nimble script, and he sealed it.

The last letter was for Caius. It said all the things Claude had been unable to say that evening, about his life, about his imminent death, about the Crests within him, about Godfrey and all of Claude's regrets. About the world he'd dreamed about. About how dreams might be meant to remain dreams forever. The rest was at rest.

He gathered his cloak and his bag, which held the remainder of his Almyran clothes, and he knew that he would have a hard time of it. The truth was, he did not know if he would make it to the border, let alone past it. But he could not bear to continue to rely on Lysithea, and the thought of taking Edelgard with him made him want to laugh.

Yet when he opened his door, he found two pale-haired girls huddled on the floor before him. A red velvet cape was bundling them. Lysithea's face was pressed into Edelgard's shoulder, and her hair curtained it. Edelgard's hair pooled against her cheek, and she somehow looked elegant even while sleeping. Claude wondered how that was, when he felt like he looked like a corpse even while awake.

The minute his cane hit the floor, a pale purple eye cracked open to gaze up at him. He froze as she stared.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, somehow remaining still as Lysithea continued to snooze peacefully on her shoulder.

"How?" Claude managed to croak. "How did you know?"

"Your friend Judith." Edelgard's voice was matter-of-fact and alert for someone who had just woken up. "She seemed rather insistent that you planned to make your escape tonight, and that if we cared about you we would accompany you."

"Edelgard," Claude sighed, "go home."

"What?"

"Do you really want to be here?" He looked down at her desperately. "With me? Is this what you want?"

Her eyes narrowed sharply. Her lack of an immediate reply told him everything.

"You need to focus on the things that are important to you," he said. "I'm not that."

"You don't know my mind better than I do, Claude," she said coolly.

"I know that you are using me to avoid your issues." Claude shook his head. "Edelgard, I'm leaving. I'm going very far away. You can't come with me."

"Are you demanding I leave?"

"What?"

"Tell me that you want me gone," she said, "and I'll go. But if you like my company, and if you are only doing this because you think I would be better off at Garreg Mach, do not speak again. I've only been gone a few weeks."

"You might be gone for months if you come with me," he said.

That caught her by surprise. She looked up at him, and he saw how torn she was in that instant. Because he _was_ putting pressure on her. She did want to help him, but there was a price, and she was not fully willing to pay it.

"So be it," she said firmly.

He gaped at her. His jaw hung open, and he merely stared with a gaping mouth as she shook Lysithea awake gently. When Lysithea moaned and burrowed further into Edelgard's side, Edelgard tutted softly.

"I'll just have to carry her," she said. "Shall we go? If we want to beat daylight, I suggest we get a move on."

* * *

After Claude had left them at dinner, Lysithea had essentially combusted. It was not unexpected, and she did it politely when all was said and done, but she stood from the table and decidedly ripped Duke Riegan apart for his treatment of Claude.

"Have you considered," Lysithea had said, gripping the back of her chair, "that Claude needs your support right now? He has done nothing to warrant this flagrant disrespect—"

"Sit down, child," Duke Riegan had sighed. "Do not embarrass yourself."

"— Nor, I think, do I deserve it. Could you imagine, sir, having a heart to spare for your own grandson? He's not well, and you are treating him like he's consciously decided to destroy your lineage when the fact is that he was tortured, and he is dying."

That had clearly struck Duke Riegan hard. Now it was Edelgard's turn to sit silently and pretend to be doing something else while Lysithea stared down this powerful man and delivered the awful truth to him with a scowl and a glare.

"He is dying," Lysithea continued, "and you think that he's throwing away everything because of a whim, when he is actually trying to save you from the reality that _you_ have lost everything. Tragedy strikes when good men stand idle, and I cannot say if you are a good man, but I know that Claude is. He does not deserve this, not death, not pain, not the wild accusations you've thrown at him because you think you know him. Perhaps you should look at yourself and wonder what _you_ have done that you cannot keep an heir long enough to see them replace you."

Lysithea had left the table then, moving with a whirl of her purple skirt.

Duke Riegan had sat, staring at the place where Lysithea had been, and he looked deathly pale.

"Is that true?" he murmured. "Is Claude truly…?"

"I believe so," Edelgard had said. She had spoken very delicately, as she considered the man's fragile feelings in spite of herself. "His body won't sustain what happened to him. It's… a miracle that he survived to start with."

At that, thinking over her own _miraculous_ survival, she had pushed herself from the table and bowed her head toward Duke Riegan respectfully. Without waiting to be dismissed, she had also left the room, feeling tired and unsure.

Lysithea was pacing furiously when she'd returned to their room. She had not looked up when Edelgard had entered, and instead she had ripped out her hairnet and flung it to the floor so the amethyst beads clinked together noisily. Her hair tumbled onto her shoulders and back, and she'd nearly pulled it out in her rage.

"Lysithea," Edelgard said sternly. "Calm down. There is no need to get worked up over such a pitiful creature."

"I tried being calm," she had said heatedly. "I tried! I thought if I was the calm one, then it would be fine and the conversation would turn civil again, but it didn't. How could these people treat Claude like this?"

"I don't know," Edelgard had said honestly.

"They're his family, aren't they?" Lysithea had sounded so disbelieving and so sad that Edelgard had sighed and crossed the room with open arms. "Families should be supportive! I don't understand."

"Not all families are made the same," Edelgard had said gently, gathering Lysithea up in her arms. The kinship she felt with this girl was undeniable. The more time Edelgard spent with her, the more she was certain she would risk her life for the girl. "Not all families love one another, and not all families are happy. You are very lucky, Lysithea, that you have a family that does love and support you."

A knock on the door caused Edelgard to release the girl, feeling strange, as though she needed to hide her fondness for her behind a layer of armor. She glanced down at Lysithea, who scowled, flushed and red-eyed.

Edelgard had marched up to the door and swung it open.

Judith was a beautiful woman. Her eyes were piercing, and her smile was tight and lazy. Edelgard wondered if the Alliance merely bred people with lazy smiles that never quite reached their eyes.

"I don't know what they teach you at Garreg Mach," Judith said, "but you three have certainly stirred things up around here. May I come in?"

Edelgard glanced back at Lysithea for an answer. After all, it had been clear that Lysithea was the one who had an issue with Judith.

But Lysithea had nodded. And so Edelgard had stood aside for the woman to walk in.

"I will make this quick," Judith said. "I'm worried about the boy, and I need him to be safe. I can't go with him myself, because I can't leave Daphnel, but if I had someone to leave it to you know I would."

"We're already traveling with him," Lysithea said flatly.

"Oh," Judith said, "I know. But he is going to leave soon, and the way things went tonight, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to slip out in the middle of the night."

"He wouldn't," Lysithea said firmly.

"He would." Judith folded her arms across her chest. "Don't argue with me, girl, I've known him quite a bit longer than you. He will run if he feels that is the right strategic move."

Edelgard recalled how Claude had been the first to bolt when the brigands had attacked them early on in their time at Garreg Mach. It, unfortunately, did make sense.

"Claude is in no shape to go anywhere by himself," Edelgard said firmly.

"You think a cane is going to stop him? Do you _know_ him?"

"I do," Edelgard had said, though she was still not so sure, "and I understand that you are right. He probably would run away and believe it is for our benefit."

In truth, Edelgard considered letting Claude go in that instant. She couldn't _not_ , with her mind still painfully aware of the situation she'd left at Garreg Mach. Hubert could not play Flame Emperor forever.

Yet she knew that if Claude ran off on his own, it would be the death of him.

 _He's dying anyway,_ a terrible voice inside her head hissed. _Leave him. Leave him to his own undoing._

Somehow that was so hard.

"Perhaps you do have a brain, Princess," Judith said with a small smirk. Edelgard had wanted to object, and Judith had laughed. "Good. I suppose if at least one of you has one, you might make it."

They had gathered their things quickly. Judith had to leave, but she did bid them farewell with a small smile and a mournful glance.

"Tell the boy—" she had begun.

Edelgard had watched the thought get stuck inside her head, and subsequently the words lodge in her throat. She blinked rapidly, and she averted her gaze.

"What?" Edelgard had asked.

"Nothing." Judith waved at her. "Safe travels, girls. Bring the heavens to their knees."

And with that, she'd left.

Now Edelgard sat in the back of a wagon, daylight dripping on her cheeks and prying her eyes open. The bumpy road jolted her, and she blinked rapidly. Her back ached from the lumpy knapsack she'd leaned up against, and both her arms were asleep.

She realized quickly it was because on one arm leaned Lysithea, her mouth faintly parted. On the other arm was Claude, his breathing soft and even, and his white hair fluttering against his eye in the morning breeze.

Truthfully, for a moment she forgot herself. She forgot who she was and where she was going, she forgot who she'd been and where she'd been. It seemed strange that she might feel at peace in this moment. It seemed unbelievable that the sun was shining, and she was alive, and so were the two people beside her.

She wondered if, in some other world, this might be enough.

 _But it cannot be,_ she thought. _I must finish what I started. And we are all living by the sands of an hourglass._

Claude had not told her where they were headed, but he said he was chasing a theory. If nothing in Fódlan could save them, then perhaps they needed to look outside of Fódlan.

It seemed clear enough where their destination lay. Getting back on her own would be difficult, but she'd faced worse odds.

Claude woke first, and it alarmed her. He'd moved suddenly, and the movement had disrupted her peace in such a jarring way that she gasped. For a moment she looked into his eyes and saw that they were wild and pained, and he jerked away from her so fast that she was almost hurt.

"Claude," she murmured, looking levelly into his eyes, "are you alright?"

"I—" He seemed to struggle for a moment, and she waited patiently as he puzzled through it. His eyes moved rapidly at nothing, searching for words upon the air that perhaps only he could see. "I'm fine. Sorry. Um. Good morning?"

"Good morning." She couldn't help but feel amused. Claude seemed flustered while he regained his composure, smoothing his hair back and taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, no, no." Claude shook his head fast, and he offered a weak little smile. "I just— I was surprised. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize."

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

"Well…" Of course, he _did_ have a point, but she hated to admit that, so she merely frowned. "Either way, it doesn't really matter. Claude, are you…?"

He peered at her, looking distinctly puzzled as the bright morning sun smoothed out his sallow face and made his white hair gleam yellow.

"Am I…?" He tilted his head. "What?"

"Okay?"

"I think I already told you," he said. "I'm fine."

Edelgard had been through her fair share of nightmares. She felt she knew nightmares better than anyone, and she could recognize the twinge of them as they died slowly, the last dregs of them evaporating in the sunlight of waking.

If Claude did not want to speak of it, she could not blame him. She did, however, fully empathize.

"Okay," she said. No matter how much she wanted him to talk more, she couldn't force him, and if she looked within herself she knew that she would do the same in his shoes. "What will we do when we reach Almyra?"

Claude's eyes flashed to her face in alarm. Then puzzlement. Then, with a small, disbelieving smile, he shook his head.

"There is someone I know there who I need to speak to," he said. "After that… I'm not really sure."

"That's okay."

 _That's okay,_ she thought, _because once I get you there, I will need to leave you there._

The things they did not say hung between them, thick and heavy and so obvious, and yet they could not feel out what it was exactly the other was hiding. All they knew, with a mutual knowing glance, was that they sat beside someone who bore the burden as them, but the truest part of them was still locked deep inside their chests.

She would tear open his ribs and dig through his organs to know, if he'd let her. Perhaps then she'd let him do the same.

* * *

The journey took longer than it should have, and Claude knew he had himself to blame. He could not walk for very long or very far, so they had to wait for kind strangers to let them hitch a ride from one place to another. This also meant that they could not exactly operate away from society, and when they ended up in Goneril territory, Claude knew the only way through the mountains would be by the hand of Duke Goneril himself.

He knew it would be a trial, especially since he was certain word had gotten out about him running away. He was going to have a lot to explain.

"Are we friends?" he asked Edelgard one night.

They'd made it to Goneril territory, and the next morning they would make the hike up the mountain to their fortress. Well, a horse would. Claude and Lysithea could not physically manage that hike, so they were paying someone to take them up.

Lysithea was not listening, as she had found the inn's supply of books, and was now seated at the fireplace with her head stooped over the second book of the night.

If Edelgard was hurt, she did not show it. She peered over her drink at him, her purple eyes heavily lidded from her clear exhaustion. They'd spent too many nights on the road already, and he'd warned them the journey would only get harder once they crossed the border.

"I don't know," Edelgard had said, taking a sip of her dark beer. Claude had opted for cider, since the inn was not offering water. He'd gotten Lysithea juice, which she'd nearly thrown in his face. "Honestly, Claude, I can't tell if I'm still here because I—"

She seemed to hear her own train of thought and silence it with a grimace. That amused him, and he prodded her gently in the arm. With a huff, she batted him away.

"Hey," he said. "Because you what? _Like_ me?"

Her mouth hung open for a moment, and he was surprised to see her cheeks turn faintly pink as she glared at her cup. He settled in his seat for a moment, realizing that his teasing had actually been a correct assessment and feeling abnormally guilty.

"That," she said bitterly, "or if I just feel immensely guilty that this happened to you."

The truth was, Claude knew Edelgard was more than likely connected to their kidnappers somehow. Worse, he thought she might know exactly who had tortured him, and the root of her guilt probably stemmed from that. Part of him had known at the boat, but it had only been at Ordelia that the realization truly crystalized in his mind.

"If you're doing this," Claude said steadily, "because you think that it will absolve you of that guilt, then you should turn back now, Edelgard."

Because her heart was not in it, and he was scared every day that he would wake to find her gone and have no answer and no closure and no goodbye.

If he could have the say on when and where and how she abandoned him, that would make a world of a difference.

"I'm not going to do that," she said dismissively, taking another sip from her glass.

"Okay, then tell me this," he said, leaning forward and looking straight into her eyes. She seemed to rise to this challenge, and she refused to lean back as she met his gaze with rivaling intensity. "Do you care about me? At all?"

"I don't think I'd be here if I didn't," she said firmly.

That struck him. Because he was so concerned about when she'd leave him, that he did not stop to consider why she stayed.

Perhaps it was the things between them that were not said that made things better.

He could not say, or would not say, and when he remained silent, she sighed.

"Never say I've never compromised," she muttered into her glass. "When we reach whoever you need us to reach in Almyra, what then?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Perhaps you should." She drummed her fingers idly against her glass. "You're a planner, aren't you? Where did all those plans go?"

"I think I left them in Adestria," he said, feeling strangely defeated. He hated admitting it, but he could not look forward when all he was seemed to become boiled down to an instant in time.

"Well," Edelgard said, "if you happen to find them again, let me know."

He gazed at her, searching her face for a hint of irony, but she seemed deathly serious as she peered up at him, her brow taut and her frown deep. And they gazed at each other, daring the other to blink, until a book slammed onto the table and they both jumped.

"You two," Lysithea said, puffing out her cheeks indignantly, "really are so weird, you know that? Stop staring at each other."

"She speaks!" Claude gasped, clasping his hands together. "How were the books?"

"Dull." Lysithea sat down beside him and smoothed her hair back. "They were terribly written, and some parts were rather inaccurate. How was your arguing?"

"We were not arguing," Edelgard said delicately.

"When are you _not_ arguing?" Lysithea challenged her. There was a boldness in her voice that was so unique to Lysithea that Claude had to smile. "Anyway, what are we going to say to Hilda's brother tomorrow to let us pass over Fódlan's throat? You do have a plan, don't you Claude?"

"Um…" He glanced at Edelgard nervously. Yeah, he hadn't gotten around to this part yet. "I have… something resembling a plan. I'm not sure if it will work, though."

"Well," Lysithea said, "we won't know unless you tell us."

Knowing well enough that he was either going to get stabbed here or they would go along with his plan, he glanced at Edelgard and watched her eyes narrow.

"Why do I have a feeling," she said, "I am not going to like this?"

She did not. She did, however, agree without hesitation, which shocked him more than anything else.

The next day, they made their way up the mountain. The wagon was not big enough for the three of them, so Edelgard rode on the mule that pulled the cart with their driver. She wore black trousers and a dark red cloak, and she pushed Claude whenever he nodded off. He realized, about halfway through the journey upward, she was preventing him from having nightmares.

It was strange to admit that he was being plagued by nightmares, like he was a child again. He had not spoken to Lysithea or Edelgard about it, but he was sure that they knew. The worst part was that he often woke frozen in fear, but the dreams dissipated so fast that he was not even sure what he was afraid of.

Yet the feeling lingered. He wondered if he was afraid even now.

When they arrived at the fortress, Edelgard was on her feet in an instant. She offered out her hands to Claude, and Lysithea glanced between them, scoffed, and jumped down off the wagon. Claude smiled at Edelgard gratefully, though he was frankly a bit embarrassed that it had come to this, and he grasped her hands tightly.

"Your hands are awfully callused," he murmured to her as she helped him down, "for a lady."

"Your hands are awfully soft," she countered, dropping them so fast that he thought he might have gotten a brush burn, "for an archer."

"What can I say?" Claude knocked his bony fingers against her cheek, watching her flush. "I like to spoil myself."

She whacked his hand away with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure you do," she said.

"May I?" Lysithea asked, holding out her hands to Claude expectantly. He was surprised, but he smiled at her and dropped his hand into hers. She dragged her fingers over his, and her eyes flashed wide with surprise. "Oh, they _are_ soft! How do you manage that?"

"I make a special mixture of plants sometimes to keep my hands from getting too dry," he explained, laughing a little as Lysithea rubbed the back of his hand. Perhaps the biggest difference between Lysithea and Edelgard is that Lysithea had no qualms with being close to him. "A lot of the time, especially when the weather gets colder, my hands will get so chapped and dry and stiff that I can hardly string a bow."

Not that he thought he could string a bow now. He had one, because he knew he might need it, but he honestly had no idea if he'd have the strength to wield it.

"Does Hilda know about this?" Lysithea asked.

"Of course," he said. "How do you think her hands stay so soft? She steals from me all the time."

Lysithea laughed before releasing his hand, and all the while Edelgard frowned. He was not sure what had her so unhappy, but he did not bother questioning it.

Holst Goneril met them readily after presumably hearing Claude's name. They were escorted up into the fortress, crossing a long wooden bridge to the gates and trekking up several flights of stairs. Claude needed to stop about half a dozen times, and Lysithea had sat down twice, her breathing uneven and her face ghostly pale.

They were seated in a receiving room, and Claude was too nervous to sit despite his knees wobbling from the strain. Almost immediately upon being left here, Lysithea had dropped into the nearest chair and heaved a sigh of relief.

Edelgard shuffled up beside him tentatively. She placed her hand on his shoulder and guided him to a chair.

"I can stand," he said quietly.

"You shouldn't," she told him. "Don't act tough, Claude. It doesn't suit you."

He was sure that was supposed to be an insult, but he smiled at her anyway, because it seemed like the thing to do.

The one good thing about his poor condition is that it seemed to give Lysithea the opportunity to fully take care of her own poor condition. After all, if Claude had been perfectly healthy, Lysithea would probably have tried to carry on with a brave face. Now, though, since he was clearly doing worse than her, she seemed willing to rest more often for his sake.

"I wish we could have brought Hilda with us," Lysithea said wistfully as she drew her fingers down the pink fringe of a decorative tea cloth that sat on the table.

Claude did not know if that would have been a good idea. He truly did love Hilda, and he thought that one day he might trust her implicitly, but he'd heard enough about House Goneril to know that taking Hilda to Almyra without formally reeducating her would be a disaster. At the very least Lysithea had a deep connection with Cyril that Claude could bank on, and Edelgard had no reason to hate Almyrans because Enbarr was rather far from the border.

"Is Edelgard not enough?" Claude teased her. Edelgard, who was standing beside him, quirked an eyebrow at him. He glanced up at her, and with his eyes he pleaded with her to play along. With a small tilt of her head, her silvery hair slipping against her cheek, she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Lysithea," Edelgard said, a strange, quivering quality affecting her voice, "am I not enough?"

 _Oh,_ Claude thought, absolutely delighted, _she's good at this!_

Lysithea's eyes flashed wide as Edelgard fixed her gaze upon her, her expression absolutely astonished and hurt.

"W-what?" Lysithea gasped. "That's not what I—!"

"Lysithea," Claude said sternly, "apologize to Edelgard."

"But I didn't—!"

"She hates me, Claude," Edelgard said with a rather convincing sniff. She turned her face away sharply, so sharply in fact that her hair flew around her face as she swiped at her nose with her knuckle. What a nice touch! Claude was so impressed that he could not keep his laughter to himself any longer, and he leaned into Edelgard's arm, which sat beside his head, and he muffled his laughter into her sleeve.

"Oh," Edelgard said, sounding rather disappointed, "you've ruined it."

Claude lifted his face from her sleeve and beamed up at her. "You sold it," he gasped. "Were those real tears?"

"Perhaps."

" _What_?" Lysithea shrieked. Her face was bright red, and she looked like she might throw a hex at them at any given moment. "You— both of you are _terrible_!"

"Oh," Edelgard murmured, "Lysithea…"

"We _are_ terrible!" Claude laughed. "Terribly charming and smart."

"From your perspective, maybe," Lysithea said, scowling at them. "From mine, you're just mean."

"You think that was mean?" Claude couldn't help but pout. "Lysithea, you wound me! I didn't even say anything about the ghosts that supposedly haunt the Goneril estate."

" _What_?" Lysithea's eyes flashed so wide that for a moment all Claude saw was white. When she noticed his grin, she flushed bright red, and she slammed her hand on the table hard. "Claude! That isn't funny!"

"I'm not joking!" he gasped, his laughter coating his words. "Honest! Hilda said so."

"No, she didn't."

"She did!"

"You're lying." Lysithea shook her head fiercely. "Nope, I'm not listening to you. Not about ghosts, not about anything."

Before Claude could reply, the door opened, and a man who could only be Holst Goneril sauntered in. He was tall, and his glossy pink hair was draped over one shoulder. He blinked between the three of them curiously.

"Oh dear," he said. His eyes flashed to Claude as he stood up, albeit shakily. "You three are certainly a sight. Claude von Riegan, I take it?"

"Holst Goneril," Claude greeted. He stood resolute, but knew if he moved forward the façade would crumble, and his weakness would show. "I guess this is all, um…" His mind went blank. He stared at Holst, and Holst stared back. He chomped down on the inside of his cheek hard. "Unexpected?"

"Well, you could say that." Holst folded his arms across his chest. "Honestly, I'm glad to see you alive. Your grandfather sent a message to all the major nobles in the Alliance saying that you've gone missing _again_ , and honestly, I assumed you just had rotten luck."

"I do," Claude said, smiling a little, "but I'm not dead yet, so that's something."

Holst was a handsome man, and he had a face that made it seem like he'd never known stress or hardship in his life. Now, though, he frowned at Claude, and he looked a little distraught.

"May I ask," Holst said, " _why_ you've run away? You must understand, I will need to inform Duke Riegan of your location."

"You may do that," Claude said steadily, "but please, hear me out first. I only ask for temporary sanctuary, and for your permission to cross the border."

Holst barked a laugh, perhaps in disbelief, and he turned about the room slowly. His heeled shoes clicked against the wooden floor as he stepped off the carpet toward a rolling liquor tray in the corner of the room.

"The border," he said, still laughing a bit. "The _border_. Really."

"I…" Claude licked his lips, which felt dry and cracked, and he took a deep breath. "I don't believe I stuttered."

With a deep breath, Holst grabbed a crystal decanter at the edge of the tray, and he tipped it over two square, diamond inlaid glasses. The liquid dispensed from it was honey-colored and thin. He stalked over to Claude and dropped the glass in his hands before swigging a mouthful of it.

"You're trouble," he said, waggling his finger at Claude. "I can tell."

"Thank you," Claude said, handing the glass over to Edelgard without looking at her. She took it without question.

"We could have snuck across the border," Lysithea said matter-of-factly. "We came to you as a courtesy."

That was a lie, but Lysithea's sweet face and unflinching confidence hid that well. Holst glanced at her, and he chuckled a little.

"And who are you?" he asked boldly. "I did not realize Duke Riegan had two grandchildren."

Claude saw Lysithea's eyes go wide, perhaps because they had never been mistaken as siblings before. In some way, it did make sense. While Claude and Lysithea had shockingly white hair, Edelgard's was closer to a silvery blonde.

"I am Lysithea von Ordelia," she said proudly. "I am here to make sure Claude does not inadvertently kill himself doing something foolish."

" _Lysithea_!" Holst grinned, jerking his cup in her direction. The liquid inside it sloshed, and Edelgard took a sip of her own drink in response to Holst's increasing volume. "The talented little mage! Hilda's told me so much about you!"

"Did she call me little?" Lysithea demanded.

"Well," Holst said, laughing, "she did mention your age. You don't mind, do you? Oh, how sweet you are! You're glaring at me, aren't you? That's so adorable!"

Lysithea was not merely glaring at Holst. Her eyes told Claude that she was minutes away from physically tearing the man's throat out.

"Holst," Claude said quickly, snatching the man's attention back. "Listen, we need you to allow us over the border _and_ to keep this a secret."

"You know," Holst said, reaching over to the crystal decanter and pouring himself another glass of liquor, "usually I'd be skeptical, but you three have me _so_ curious. Why should I do that, Mr. Claude von Riegan?"

Claude exchanged a glance with Edelgard. She was standing close to him, and her gaze was steady and strangely calm. She nodded once.

"First," Claude said thickly, anxiety rooting inside his bones, "may I introduce Edelgard von Hresvelg?"

Holst, who had draped himself across the nearest chair, blinked thrice in rapid succession before he set his glass down very carefully.

"Hold on," he said. "Let us backtrack a moment. Claude, are you not the future Duke Riegan?"

"Yes."

Though, he doubted it would ever come to pass. He did not say that, but he thought about it with some bitterness.

"Duke Riegan, or rather the future _leader_ of the Alliance?"

"I suppose so."

Though, again, he could not imagine a world any longer where he found himself doing any good for the Alliance.

"And is Edelgard von Hresvelg not the Imperial Princess? The future _leader_ of Adestria?"

"That is, in fact, me," Edelgard said. She almost sounded amused. She glanced up at Claude, quirked an eyebrow, and smirked into her cup as she took another sip of her drink.

"And _what_ ," Holst gasped, "in the goddess's name are you two doing trying to cross into Almyra together? I am not here to start a war, you know."

"That is hardly our intention," Edelgard said.

"Though," Claude said, "I have heard you are a great warrior, so perhaps you could handle it."

"Claude," Edelgard murmured, almost sternly.

"What?" he whispered back. "It's true."

"What are you two whispering about?" Holst asked with some suspicion laid bare in his voice.

"They're flirting," Lysithea said dryly, "ignore it, please. I like to."

That remark _shocked_ him. Because it had not been rehearsed, and either Lysithea was very good at acting, or she really felt this way.

 _Are we flirting?_ Claude wondered, exchanging a startled glance with Edelgard. _Is that what this is? I don't know if I've ever accidentally flirted with someone before, but perhaps…_

He was suddenly hit with all of his past conversations with Edelgard, and he needed to squash them down deep inside his brain before he got overwhelmed by them. This was not part of the plan.

"Flirting," Holst repeated, his eyes flashing between Claude and Edelgard. "Really? Wait, don't tell me that you two are…"

"That's just the thing," Claude said quickly. "You clearly understand the problem here. Edelgard is the future Emperor of Adestria, and I am the future leader of the Alliance. A relationship would, politically, be absolute insanity."

"Yes," Holst agreed, his brow furrowed. "I can see how anyone might be troubled by the idea of Duke Riegan having emotional ties to the Emperor. Not to mention the conflict that would start with Faerghus."

"Which is why we'd like you to keep it a secret," Edelgard said firmly. "You must know how this will look. We've already been told numerous times what a bad idea it is."

"And you continue to pursue it?"

"If you love someone," Edelgard said without hesitation, like a properly seasoned actor, "what could the scorn of others possibly do to keep you from that person?"

This was so good. _She_ was so _good_! He almost laughed, he was so impressed by her. Especially considering she had not been entirely thrilled by this plan.

"Love is a beautiful thing," Holst agreed, "but I'm just not sure what you want _me_ to do."

"Let us cross the border," Claude said eagerly. "If we leave Fódlan— if we go to Almyra, no one will know us."

"And you'd abandon your respective kingdoms on a whim?" Holst asked curiously.

"Abandon is a strong word," Edelgard said. "I do not intend to leave the Empire to anyone. I only want to eliminate the possibility of a so-called advisor attempting to destroy the relationship I've built. Nobody can question my choice to pursue Claude if I am married to him."

The way she talked about it was very calculated and vicious. They had not actually discussed what they would say _exactly_ to Holst, but it seemed entirely true to Edelgard's personality that she would have placed herself in this situation wholly and thought about it as if she _were_ running away with him.

In his mind, he'd thought of it as a much more hurried, frantic, love-struck affair. But he did read too many fairytales.

"Marriage," Holst echoed Edelgard. He stared at her like he was not truly listening.

"Yes," Edelgard said. "Is that a problem?"

Holst plucked up his glass and drained it.

"I suppose it is, then." Edelgard set her glass down and grasped Claude by the sleeve. He looked down at her, careful to look directly into her eyes and hoping that something on his face might convey a tender sort of love. "Come on, Claude. He is not going to help us."

"Wait a minute," Holst said thickly. He waved his hand at them, and it flicked back and forth hastily. "Wait, wait, wait— I did _not_ say that."

"So you will?" Lysithea asked eagerly. "You'll allow us to pass into Almyra?"

"I didn't say that either," Holst sighed. He straightened up, smoothed his elegant pink hair back from his face, and he looked around at the three of them. "Okay, listen. I need time to think on this."

"How much time?" Claude asked. If they wanted to get to the capital within a reasonable amount of time, they needed to leave _soon_.

"Don't," Edelgard said to Claude, her fingers hooking around his bicep and digging through his shirt and into his skin. "Let him consider it, Claude. After all, we have nothing to hide."

In that moment, as Edelgard spoke with the conviction and fervor of a girl standing before Death itself and declaring herself its better, Claude thought he might actually love her.

But that moment passed, and yet the thought remained. He found himself struck by it. Edelgard's hand against his arm, his brain turning over her lies in his brain and coating them so thoroughly in a glamour of "love," that he imagined what it might be like if it were true.

"If you say so," Claude murmured. Edelgard's hand slipped from his arm, and he took a deep breath. Right. Right, right, right. They were both incredible actors, were they not? He'd nearly fooled himself.

"I will grant you three my protection while I make my decision," Holst said, rising to his feet. "I will have two rooms made up for you."

"Two?" Lysithea asked, frowning. "Will Edelgard and I be sharing one?"

"Oh," Holst said, looking at Lysithea as though she had just asked him if fairies were real. "You are precious. No, my dear, you will have your own room."

 _Ha,_ Claude thought, not bothering to glance at Edelgard. She was too good at this to actually externalize any shock she felt. _Fuck._

"Thank you for your hospitality," Edelgard said curtly. "But please, don't talk down to Lysithea like that. She can understand why two people who are about to be married might share a room."

Lysithea's mouth parted a bit as the realization hit her all at once. It seemed she was rather embarrassed at the thought of it, because she turned her face away sharply.

"Ah," Holst gasped, "my apologies, Lady Ordelia. I merely thought your suggestion was adorable."

"I do not appreciate being treated as _adorable_ ," Lysithea said, "like I'm some precocious little child. I am not."

"I understand," Holst said, in all genuineness, as he bowed deeply to Lysithea. "Truly, I apologize. The last thing I want to do is insult one of Hilda's most precious friends."

"You're a bit late for that," Lysithea said bitterly.

"I will do my best to make amends, then," said Holst.

When they were shown their room, they were greeted with a lovely and ornate chamber that favored a more somber color scheme than other parts of the fortress. The duvet was threaded with gold embroidery, and the sheets, which were folded back, were black satin.

"I almost feel like we did too well," he said when they were finally alone. He did not like that he was leaving Lysithea alone in a strange place. He almost wished the three of them could share this room, rather than just him and Edelgard.

Edelgard was already discarding her boots. "I don't mind if you don't," she said, nodding to the single bed.

"Well…" Claude did not mind sharing a bed with a friend. The thing that frightened him more and more was that Edelgard seemed to dance a strange line between enemy, friend, rival, and something else that he could not think about at the moment. "I'm… you know—"

"Are you embarrassed?" Edelgard's eyes were on him in an instant, amused and cutting. "This was your plan, you know."

"I know that," he said smoothly, "and I'm not embarrassed. I'm just surprised you would be so comfortable sharing a bed with me after… all of that."

"Why?" Edelgard sat down upon the fluffy gold-embroidered duvet, and she tilted her head to one side. "It is all play-pretend, is it not? You said so yourself."

"I—" He scowled at her. "I _know_. I— I guess I feel guilty for—" He winced, and he shot her a desperate glance.

"You don't need to," she told him, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I don't mind playing along. It was a smart plan, Claude. You appealed to the romantic in Holst, and he readily accepted that we are two star-crossed lovers. How _did_ you come up with this plan?"

Leaning heavily on his cane, feeling exhausted and awkward and annoyed at himself, he moved slowly to the nearest chair and sat down heavily upon it. He did not know how to explain to Edelgard that it seemed like the only option aside from telling the truth, which would be disastrous.

"People kept assuming we were—" When he tried to say it, his tongue grew heavy in his mouth and stuck to the back of his teeth. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I guess the idea of arranged marriage has… haunted me. All my life. I think my existence itself was an excuse to get out of an arranged marriage sometimes."

"You mean your parents?" Edelgard looked surprised. "You… don't talk about them, but… your grandfather did mention… when he thought that we were in a relationship— that your mother…?"

"Yes," Claude sighed, rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know the story. My mother certainly did not tell it to me. But I'm sure she would have brought my father home as a guest before running away with him. It sounds like exactly the sort of bold move my mother would make."

"And she was going to be married?" Edelgard asked curiously. "To who?"

"Fabian Gloucester," Claude said. He knew this story well enough from Judith. He and Lorenz had argued about it once, when Lorenz had actually put together who his mother was. "He's Lorenz's uncle, and apparently my mother had been very callous with him. Not that I can blame her."

"I could not imagine why," Edelgard said dryly. Claude looked up at her, and he grinned at that remark. "Your mother sounds fascinating. So she gave you this idea? Because she ran away with your father?"

"Essentially."

Claude did not mention the pressure of his family growing up in regards to picking a wife for him, how his father had been adamant about marrying him to an Almyran girl as proof that Claude belonged there while his mother believed that he could do as his father had done and strengthen the ties between Almyra and at the very least the Alliance. Then there was Godfrey, who had constantly been dodging marriage prospects because, as he'd put it, it would not be fair. It had taken Claude a while to realize it was, in a very twisted way, Godfrey's self-awareness shining through. He was right. It would not be fair to any woman to have to be married to him.

"That's rather romantic." Edelgard smiled thinly. "I wish I could say my family history was so rich, but alas, it is quite the boring tale of arranged marriages."

"Are you a romantic at heart?" he teased her.

"Hardly," she said, an edge to her voice. Something about the way she frowned made him doubt her. "But marrying for love… is that not an ideal to strive for?"

"You _are_ a romantic!" he gasped. "No wonder you're so good at this act."

"I am not a romantic," she said icily. "I merely believe that it is important to choose one's partner carefully. After all, looking after mere political aspects of your life will not save you if your spouse puts a knife to your throat in your wedding bed."

"You have dark imaginings," Claude said with a nervous laugh. "I've been living with the idea of an arranged marriage all my life, and I never imagined _that_ before. I am almost glad I'll die before I can ever marry, if I can escape _that_."

"Don't say that," Edelgard murmured.

"Don't say what, exactly?" he laughed. "The truth? Come now, Edelgard. You're so smart. Why lie to yourself?"

"You don't know for sure you're doomed to die in a year," she said.

"I'm not getting any better."

"You're talking fine," she pointed out. "You've been standing for longer periods of time. Perhaps— I would be glad to work with you, to try and help you regain your muscle—"

"Edelgard," he said firmly, "I am _dying_. I am not like you. I will not recover from this."

"I'm not _recovered_ ," she snapped at him, her eyes flashing to his heatedly. "I just don't let the fact that what happened to me will kill me one day hang over me like an axe. You are so strong, and—"

"Edelgard," Claude cut in tiredly. "Enough. Please. I don't want to fight. I know you've been affected by this too. But whatever you see in me, it's— I just don't see it in myself, and I can tell that I am not well at all. Maybe I have longer than a year. Maybe I have less. It does not change that I've lost my life to something I scarcely understand."

She sat silently on the bed, her eyes fixed upon him before she glanced down at her lap. Then she stood, crossed the room, and swung open a large oak door. He peered over her shoulder into it and saw that it was a bathroom.

"What are you doing?" he asked when she lingered too long in the doorway.

"Taking a bath," she said. "Do not come in here."

"Uh… okay?"

The door closed behind her, and Claude watched the wood warp before his eyes. He thought it was funny how he could see faces inside it.

Then the door opened again, and Claude jumped.

"Did you forget something?" he asked, politely turning his head as a robed Edelgard strode into the room. She stopped short of the bed, and she turned to look at him incredulously. Her mouth was half twisted in a gape.

"What?" she gasped. "What does that mean?"

"I…" He blinked rapidly, and gathered his courage as he looked at her. Her face was rosy and flushed from the steam, and her eyes were fixed upon him like she meant to tear him to pieces and scavenge him for food. He saw that her hair was damp, and he grew dazed watching water glide against her cheek.

"Claude." Edelgard was beside him in an instant. "Are you alright?"

"Sorry," he said, "sorry, what? I— you just went into the bathroom."

"Claude," she said, looking down at him worriedly, "I've been in there for nearly an hour. Have you just been sitting here this whole time?"

"No. What?" He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them. No. _What_? "That was a minute. That wasn't even a minute. That was—"

"Okay." Edelgard knelt beside him, and she gripped his arms. "Okay, breathe. You lost a little bit of time. That's okay. Just— Claude, look at me."

He'd dropped his face into his hands.

"Claude," Edelgard said urgently, "look at me."

His fingers scraped against his scalp, and he thought that if he looked at her, if he really looked at her, she might see that he was not strong at all, and that he was really just a scared little boy huddling under a fox pelt.

"Claude." Edelgard's hands gripped his shoulders. She shook him. " _Claude_."

When had he started to care what she thought of him? When had she wormed her way into his brain, and when had he let her? When had time become strange and elusive, and when had he gotten caught up in it like he was wading in a deep pool of water.

"Claude," Edelgard whispered, and suddenly her callused hands were on his face. Her dry thumb scraped against his cheek, and he realized he was crying. "Oh, Claude. Come on. Look at me."

He did, though he was not sure if it was because he wanted to, or because she had pulled his face up.

"There," she murmured. "There we are. Look at you. Look at _me_. What were you so afraid of?"

He did not even know. He just stared at her mutely. She took the sleeve of her robe and scrubbed the tears from his cheeks.

"No more of that," she said firmly. "Look at me, okay? If you ever feel you are losing yourself, look at me. I'm here. You're not alone."

Then, almost aggressively, Edelgard yanked him close and allowed him to bury his face in her shoulder. He was overwhelmed by the perfumes that clung to her hair and skin, roses and primroses and apples and something else, something earthy and grounded and natural.

He let himself be held by her, and though he shivered and shook, he felt in his heart that he was warm.

* * *

In her toy room, the dolls were sitting in a row. She cried, tears flooding her face in utter silence as a man with no face, just a hollow cavity and long, inky black hair, plucked them up one by one.

"Here is to Conrad," a disembodied voice rumbled. It shuddered all around her while the scissors severed the brown haired boy's head from his neck. "The oldest, the wisest, the one who always bandaged your scrapes. He disappeared, and you thought he ran. You silly girl. You've learned, now, have you not?"

She was silent. She realized, with some horror, there was a gag in her mouth.

"Here is to Lukas," the voice said, stabbing the doll twice, "second child, helpless child. He was always in trouble, always desperate for attention, and but you never gave him the time."

She moaned softly through the gag.

"Here is to Lisette, third and sturdy, who liked axes and was so very strong. You said you'd be like her when you grew up, but it looks like you were wrong."

 _Please,_ she thought, _please, stop_.

"Here is to Ahren, fourth and feral. He went slower than the others. He went on his knees." The doll was situated at her feet, its legs broken so it sat on its knees. "Here is to Bren, fifth by three minutes, and so happy to go. He thought he was doing something great. Here is to Gerwalta, the sixth, who worked day and night with her spear. She fought until the end, but did it matter? Here is to Maddalyn, seventh, and how lucky she was! Here are her hands, here is her blood. Here is to Odette, eighth, just a year your elder, and how wicked she was when she taught you to dance. You stepped on her foot, remember? She screamed for you, do you remember?"

"No," she managed to mumble through the gag, "no, no, no, no—"

"Here is to Edelgard, the lowly little ninth." The scissors dragged across her cheek. "Scared and alone. She lived, but at what cost? Little Ulric, tenth and timid, he died in your arms. Nobody saw Isolde, the unlucky eleventh, as she cried herself to sleep, but she was the last, and she was alone too. Will you remember her, at least?"

The scissors came down upon her, and she bit back a scream.

Suddenly she was being kicked, and she opened her eyes to darkness. She blinked, her heart beating hard in her chest and a scream poised in her throat. She rolled over, and she saw Claude tossing and turning, whimpering and moaning.

She had seen him in the throes of a nightmare before, but never one quite this violent.

Instinctively, she reached beneath the blankets and gripped his hand. Then, with her other hand, she shook him awake.

He gasped when his eyes snapped open, and his eyes landed on her face. In the dark, she saw that he was sweating, and his pale hair was sticking to his face in places.

"I—" he managed to choke out. "I'm—"

"It's okay." She gripped his hand tighter. "Don't say anything. Please."

He did not. He just laid there and stared at her. She stared back.

It was a while until he spoke. He was awake, but he pretended not to be. She didn't bother pretending, and instead peered at him. He was small, and not in a lean and muscular way as he'd been at the monastery. He merely did not eat, or could not eat, and it was making him look skeletal. She wondered if she could do something to help him.

"You had a nightmare too," he finally said. The rift and the silence made her squirm a bit. "Right?"

"We don't have to talk about it—"

"No," he agreed, "we don't. It's just— I didn't realize."

"What?"

"That you still got nightmares." His eyes flashed to hers in the dark. He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Can't we talk about something else?" she whispered.

"Sure. What should we talk about? This lovely day we're having?"

It was a joke, yet he sounded bitter. It was strange to hear.

"Can we talk about how Holst definitely thinks we're having sex in here?" she asked. "I think that's amusing."

"Oh, do you?" Claude snorted into his pillow. "What's the Church's stance on all that? I thought it was frowned upon."

"Oh," Edelgard said, "it is."

"So he thinks we're sacrilegious?" Claude clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "No sir, we follow the Church's teachings and keep the light of the goddess between us at all times."

Edelgard couldn't help it. She laughed into her pillow, and she curled up as Claude laughed too. They huddled against their pillows to muffle their giggles.

"I for one," Edelgard said, "have never crossed the Church of Seiros in my life, and heaven forbid I start now."

"Heaven forbid," Claude echoed. "Whatever would happen to us? I think my skin would light on fire if you so much as kissed me."

"It certainly would," Edelgard said. "Premarital kissing? No sir. We are good little followers of the Church of Seiros, and we've so much as looked at the opposite sex."

"Let alone the same sex."

"Oh," Edelgard said, "heaven forbid."

"Heaven forbid!"

"I think my eyes might melt," Edelgard said. "The goddess would come down from her holy throne and take my eyes, and say, not in my house, little lady! Marry the girl first, _then_ we'll talk about the rest."

"Perhaps the goddess likes women," Claude said teasingly. "You don't know her. You don't know what she likes."

"You think she does?" Edelgard asked curiously. "You think I could marry the goddess if I tried?"

"Would you try?"

"To say I married a goddess?" Edelgard laughed. "Of course. Wouldn't you?"

"Okay, point taken."

Very slowly, Claude untangled his fingers from hers. He withdrew himself completely and rolled onto his back. She peered at him in the dark, at the line of his nose and his jaw, and his ears and the shadow of his sideburns and hair. In the dark, it could be brown again. If she pretended, maybe hers would be brown too. They could be brown-haired children together and laugh until the sun rose.

"Would you tell me a story?" Edelgard asked, knowing he had no shortage of them.

"I…" He sounded tired. His voice shuddered. "I don't know, Edelgard. I think… I might be fresh out of stories."

That was a lie, but she knew she should accept it. He was hurting, after all. Yet there was something so disheartening about hearing him deny her a tale, when she knew well enough that telling stories was one thing that gave him real joy.

"Shall I tell you a story then?" she asked.

That caught his attention. His eyes flashed to hers fast enough that the whites of them glinted in the dark.

"What sort of story?" he asked softly.

"The true kind," she said. "Do you want to hear it? I'll only tell it if you give me one in return."

He turned his face fully toward her, and he buried a smile into his pillow.

"You're cruel, Edelgard."

"I am merely being diplomatic," she said. "Shall I begin?"

"Sure. If that's what you want."

"Once," she said, "a very long time ago, there was a girl who didn't really exist. She had eight elder siblings and two younger siblings, and though they all loved each other very much, they all felt very lonely. The girl grew up bending over backwards trying to get her brothers to pay her any mind, and she wanted more than anything for her mother to give her a smile or a hug. She used to dream about it, how it might feel, if it was everything she'd ever wanted."

Claude's eyes were fixed upon her face, and he listened to her with a frown. As she spoke, he slowly sat up.

"Then one day, everything seemed to descend into chaos. The girl was pulled from her bed in the middle of the night, and she was told, 'Put your shoes on, we are going.' And she said, 'What? Where? _Now_?' And her uncle pushed a pair of boots at her that belonged to her elder sister, and he dragged her out into the street and pushed her into a carriage. And then suddenly the girl, and her uncle, and her mother, who had never paid her much attention before, were all headed to a foreign kingdom."

"Edelgard," Claude said gently. "You don't need to tell me any of this."

She closed her eyes, not bothering to turn hed head up to look at him.

"I want to," she said.

"Do you?" Claude sounded skeptical. "Edelgard, you've never wanted to tell me about yourself before. I'm okay with that. I trust you anyway."

Her eyes snapped open.

"Do you?" she echoed him.

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

Claude opened his mouth, and in the dark, she could not see the details of his face, so it was hard to say what made him stop. He sat there in silence, and the longer it stretched on, the more Edelgard felt the sting of it.

"That's okay," she said, settling onto her back. "I don't really trust you either."

"Yet," Claude said quietly, "you have risked everything to be here with me."

"Would you rather I leave you here?" She bundled herself with the duvet, her face very warm from the embarrassment of opening herself up even a little bit to him. "I can do that. I don't want to, but I can."

"I don't want you to either."

"Then why," she said, "are you so distant? I am trying to show you that you _can_ trust me."

"I don't know." He sighed, lowering his head into one hand and shaking it slowly. "Edelgard, would you tell me what you've been planning? What you plan to do? I know it does not bode well for anyone, and I know it has to do with us getting kidnapped. Is it your uncle? Has he pulled you into some shady dealings?"

"What?" Edelgard couldn't help but laugh. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Claude said, "because you are, frankly, an enigma. I know you've got something up your sleeve, but I can't say what."

"Can we not leave it at that?"

"Do you want me to trust you?"

Did Claude not realize how difficult this was for her? The idea of telling him, of dragging him into this mess, it terrified her. He might not die as fast as he assumed, and she might save him, and if she did that, she did not want to drag him into her war. Because, inevitably, she felt that he would be dragged into it. Perhaps as her enemy, perhaps as her ally. It was better if he did not know.

Yet she wanted him to trust her. She _wanted_ this. Her heart ached for it.

She opened her mouth, the crimes of the Flame Emperor heavy on her brain, and she said, "You might hate me."

Claude shrugged. Just like that. He _shrugged_ at her concern.

"I might," he said. "But perhaps if we live our lives haunted by what might be, we'll run out of time before we've truly lived them."

"You're just saying that because you want to know," she said.

"Well, _yeah_."

"You're awful."

"But don't you find that endearing?" he laughed. "Don't you find it easier to be awful because I'm awful too?"

"Maybe."

"So be awful," he said, "and tell me what's going on with you. I already know it's bad. I already know it has to do with…" He lost his words, and instead of grappling for them, he gestured to himself vaguely. She understood that he meant his surgery, and the second Crest within him. After all of this, she still was not even sure what Crest it was. He had not used it.

Edelgard might have let something slip if this had continued, but a light knock at their door caused her to bolt upright. She twisted in place to stare at the door in the dark.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"A ghost," he teased her, "maybe."

"Don't," she hissed at him. "I'm not a child. I'm not afraid of ghosts."

"A rat, then?"

"I won't fall for that. Don't make me hurt you."

The knocking came again, this time a little louder. Edelgard threw back the duvet and the black silk sheets, and she pushed herself off the bed. Claude sat in silence as she marched across the room, her head high, and opened the door with a frown.

She was met with the watery pink eyes of Lysithea. They shined and glowed in the yellow light of her lantern.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her own blanket gathered at her cheeks. "I— I know it's late. I'm sorry. It's just— I kept hearing this noise—"

"Oh," Edelgard said softly, "Lysithea…"

"I can go back to my room," she said quickly. "I just— is Claude awake? Or if he isn't, can you check my wardrobe? I think— it's stupid. This was stupid."

"It's not stupid," Edelgard told her gently. "We were awake anyway. You're not the only one frightened tonight."

"You? Both of you?" Lysithea's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes." Edelgard smiled at her, and she offered out her hand. "I can check your wardrobe, if you'd like, or if you feel too frightened, you can stay in here."

"Really?" Lysithea gasped, all too fast. She seemed to realize her mistake, and she let her eagerness fall away quickly. "I mean, of course I wouldn't want to trouble you—"

"Who are you troubling?" Claude called from the bed. "The ghosts?"

Lysithea looked for a moment like she might dive under Edelgard's arm and commit a terrible crime.

"I think I will go back to my room," she said stiffly. "If I am killed on the way there, pin the blame on Claude."

"Nonsense," Edelgard said, snatching the lantern from the girl and ushering her into their room. "You'll sleep here. It makes more sense for us to stay together, anyway. What if we need to run very suddenly?"

"Oh," Claude said, "I hate it when you make good points."

"Do you?" Edelgard arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you liked having me around."

"Did I say that?"

"Yes?"

"Oh." Claude rolled his shoulders in a sort of shrug. "Well, that's true enough. But you're less fun when you're right."

"What does _that_ mean?" Edelgard asked.

"Yeah," Lysithea said, "what _does_ that mean?"

"You'll never know, Lysithea," Claude said with a heavy sigh, "as you're _always_ right."

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?"

"Alright," Edelgard said, pushing Lysithea toward the bed. "Come on. Enough is enough. We should all get some sleep."

"Will we all fit in one bed?" Lysithea asked nervously. "I can— I don't know. I have a blanket. There's a small couch—"

"I won't have that." Edelgard met Claude's eye, and she saw, in the lantern light, how amused he looked. That was nice. At least he wasn't angry or sad. "Go on, Lysithea. There's more than enough room."

Lysithea, with her blanket bundled around her, and her nightgown fluttering against her legs, clambered onto the bed. Edelgard sat down beside her, and she smiled when Lysithea settled between her and Claude. She tugged her nightgown over her knees and frowned.

"Try to sleep," Edelgard told her. "If we get beyond the border, there is no telling when we will have a bed this comfortable again. We should all savor it."

With a stiff nod, Lysithea laid out her blanket and wedged herself fully between Claude and Edelgard. She slept on top of the duvet, and her head fell upon both their pillows.

"Thank you," she murmured. Her pale hair slipped against her cheek, and Edelgard pushed it back very gingerly.

When she sat up to blow out the lantern, she saw Claude watching her. She stared at him expectantly, wondering if he might say something.

Instead, he settled back into bed without a word.

* * *

Claude woke to an empty bed, and it took a lot for him to remember himself and change out of his nightshirt. He found Edelgard and Lysithea in the room that Lysithea had been given— evidently, it looked to be Hilda's, and he watched them from the doorway as they held up ornate gowns to one another and giggled. Edelgard swished the long, lace and chiffon skirt of what appeared to be an evening gown. It was pale pink, so light that he'd almost mistaken it for white. Lysithea was pressing a purple dress up to her, its laced front loose and silk ribbons falling all over her fingers. The details on the damask bodice looked Almyran, and he tried not to think too hard about that.

Edelgard twirled the pink dress, and as she did so, she met his gaze. She immediately jerked to a stop.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked. She did not sound incredibly offended, which was surprising. He thought she might be angry at him for watching, but instead she just seemed curious.

"A minute, maybe." He tilted his head. "Hilda's certainly got some sort of taste."

"They're very beautiful," Edelgard said. The way she said it was so polite, it sounded poisonous. "She is a lucky girl, to have so many exquisite gowns."

"You should try those on," he said, nodding to each of them. "I bet those would look beautiful on both of you."

"You think I could fit in this?" Lysithea scoffed, holding out the purple dress so Claude saw it truly in proportion to her body. It did, indeed, look too large.

"Edelgard might be closer to Hilda's size," he admitted, "but that one has laces. It wouldn't hurt to try."

"Are you suggesting we steal from Hilda?" Edelgard asked. She seemed both curious and almost eager. Like she wanted to see him turn against his friend.

"No," he said amusedly. "But it's not like she's exactly lacking dresses."

Edelgard snorted softly, and she placed the pink dress back into the wardrobe without another word. The skirt and blouse she was wearing were very plain in comparison, but Claude thought those suited her better anyway. The skirt was red, and the blouse was white, and she wore a ruffled cravat around her neck.

Breakfast was strange. Holst arrived after them, despite the fact that they were already late, and he beamed at them as he sat. His pink hair was pulled away from his face, and resided in a messy bun at the top of his head. His loose, pink linen shirt was half tucked into his high-waisted black trousers, and he looked less like a duke and more like what a rich and imaginative painter might envision a poor farm boy to look like.

"And how did you two lovebirds sleep?" he asked amusedly.

Edelgard shared a sharp glance with him. Of course she was annoyed by Holst, but they were at his mercy at the moment.

"Fine," Edelgard said. "And you?"

"I've slept better." Holst nodded to a servant as she walked in. She had big blue eyes that were set widely apart on her warm-toned face. In her hands was a silver pot, and she poured what Claude assumed was coffee into Holst's cup.

She turned to him and offered it out wordlessly. He nodded with a reluctant smile. At home, the royal servants were usually orphans or other unfortunate children. Claude's paternal grandfather had started a tradition of allowing the children to learn a trade while they were housed at the castle, and when they turned a certain age they could leave or remain and earn a wage. Many stayed, considering lodging at the palace was free, he saw just as many go. He remembered not being allowed to interact with the orphans as a child, and how sad that had made him. It made him wonder.

He wondered if, when he became king, he should encourage the servants to pave their own future, or if it was better to keep them safe and well taken care of under his own roof.

Then he realized, with a pang of dread, that he would never become king.

Holst halved a grapefruit on his plate. Their breakfast seemed to be a selection of fresh fruit, sweetmeats, and bread. Lysithea took the bread, the honey jar, and a flaky pastry covered in powdered sugar. Edelgard hesitantly took an apple, a handful of blackberries, and a tiny jelly tart.

Claude was not hungry, so he picked up a small bunch of grapes and set those on his plate.

"I've been thinking," Holst said, "about your situation. And it doesn't make much sense to me."

"Love does not tend to make sense," Edelgard said.

"You can talk abstractly about love," Holst said, showering his grapefruit with sugar, "but it's a feeling, Lady Edelgard, not a thought. Prove to me you two are really in love. I can't, in good conscience, allow you two to leave here unless I believe it."

"Why?" Claude demanded. "It's not on you. Our decisions are ours."

"Your decision reflects the entirety of the Alliance," Holst told him with a sigh. "Not only that, but marrying the Imperial Princess… I'm not exactly willing to let the Empire subsume the Alliance, Claude."

"I'm not asking you to." Claude looked into Holst's eyes intently. "I don't need to be the leader of the Leicester Alliance. After all, that position is rather replaceable. Choose amongst yourselves who you want to lead you. Put it to vote. Just know it won't be me."

Holst's eyes were wide. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Beside him, Edelgard decided to pop a few blackberries in her mouth, probably to avoid answering questions. On the other side of the table, Lysithea looked around wildly, like an owl stuck in a cage.

"Yeah?" Claude offered Holst a shrug. "I mean, c'mon. I'm a nobody upstart who no one wanted anyways. No one will miss me."

There was no denial, no move to convince Claude otherwise. Instead, Holst simply frowned. He dug into his grapefruit with a sharpened spoon, and he seemed to think on this.

"Where did you two meet?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Garreg Mach," Claude said, "obviously."

"Claude and I arrived before everyone else," Edelgard said dismissively. "We had more of an opportunity to bond, I suppose."

The thing that struck him was that she wasn't actually lying. Edelgard had arrived at Garreg Mach fairly early, and Claude had met her about a week before the rest of the students had arrived. This was because he had been anxious to leave Riegan.

The lie was within her flippant mention of their bonding. They'd never bonded at Garreg Mach. It had been fangs hidden behind smiles since the very start.

"Was that bonding?" Claude asked her cheekily. "If I recall correctly, you had a sharpened axe to my throat before we even exchanged names."

"You snuck up on me while I was training," Edelgard said with a roll of her eyes. "Did you expect formalities? I don't regret it."

"Neither do I."

Lysithea's eyes darted between them. She pressed her lips together firmly, and seemed to decide to focus on her pastry.

"Fascinating," Holst said. "What is it about Claude that made you fall in love with him, Edelgard?"

He did not look at her, because he knew his eyes might betray him. Instead he waited. He was lucky that Edelgard had bitten into something, probably some of the fruit on her plate, before Holst had finished talking.

"I suppose," Edelgard said slowly, "I can't say for sure. That's a difficult question to spring on someone, you know. There are so many things."

Claude might have laughed if he wasn't so anxious.

"He's so clever," she sighed, "I think he must have tricked me into it somehow. Like, perhaps all of the teasing and the play-fighting was a ruse the whole time, and I woke up one day to find that it was not all a joke anymore. I don't know, really. If I knew, perhaps I could have fought it, and we would not be begging you to allow us into Almyra."

Once more, Claude was struck by the intensity of her lies. She was so good at lying that it almost frightened him. Almost. Instead of fright, though, he felt exhilarated. He wanted to hear more. He wanted her to lie to him like that.

Holst seemed to buy this, because he glanced at Claude expectantly.

"Well?" he asked. "Did you trick her?"

"Not intentionally," Claude said.

"And what about you, then?" Holst reclined in his chair. "What about Lady Edelgard made you decide to throw away _everything_?"

"What about her wouldn't make me want to throw away everything?" Claude countered. "I don't need to be the Duke of Riegan to feel fulfilled in my life. I never did. I don't need money, or a crown, or a Crest. I just need to feel that I've done something meaningful, and that the people I love will love me too, even after I'm gone."

 _Lies should always be grounded in truth,_ he told himself. He did not want to look at Edelgard. He wondered if she was surprised.

After this interrogation, Holst let them wander the fortress. Lysithea had bolted the minute she had caught wind of a library, and Claude was tempted to go after her, but instead he followed Edelgard through the halls. She was admiring the art and the armor displayed there.

"You never did give me that story," she said.

"You never finished yours."

"You said I didn't need to."

"Maybe I'm curious."

"Maybe," she said, rolling her eyes, "you should have thought of that earlier."

He was about to retort when, as they passed a narrow corridor, he heard faint whispering. The words and cadence were so familiar that he halted there and then.

"—go, if I wanted. I am not a child, and I can do as I please."

"You _are_ a child, and I do not believe you've grasped what you are saying."

"Mira, _please_. Now is not the time."

The servant girl from that morning emerged from the passage, and she stopped short when she spotted him. They stared at each other blankly. With a squared jaw, she curtsied, and moved to scurry away.

"What is your name?" he asked her in Almyran.

Beside him, Edelgard stiffened. She looked at him sharply, a question in her gaze. He ignored it.

The girl whirled around to face him, her blue eyes wide and frantic. She looked past him, perhaps searching for someone else, before her gaze settled on him.

"Excuse me?" she said. Her voice was shaky. She did not speak in Almyran, and she did not have an accent.

"Your name," he said, once more in Almyran. He offered her a crooked smile. Speaking in his native tongue felt strange. He had not done so since before… and yet, the words seemed to come easy. "Surely you have one."

"You speak Almyran?" she demanded. Still not in Almyran. That surprised him. "Are you not a nobleman?"

"I cannot speak Almyran and be a nobleman at the same time?" He switched back for this, knowing Edelgard was growing agitated. "Strange. They never taught me _that_ at noble school."

"Who are you?" the girl demanded.

"Claude von Riegan. And you?"

"Celine," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you Almyran?"

"Maybe I am," he said in his native tongue. He smiled when she gaped at him. "Are you?"

"Yes," she replied, reluctantly switching languages. "Though… not fully. I was born there, but my father is from… ah… Faerghus."

"I see," Claude said. He could empathize with her. He wanted to tell her that he was in a very, _very_ similar situation, but he knew that would not end well.

"May I go?" she asked, switching back hastily. "I have work to finish."

"My apologies." He smiled at her gently. "If you need to talk to someone, perhaps about Almyra, I'm here until Holst lets us over the border."

"You're going to Almyra?" she gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. " _Really_? But— oh."

"What is it?" Claude asked her.

She shook her head fiercely. "Never mind," she said. "Good luck on your quest, Claude von Riegan."

And with that, the girl walked away. Claude watched after her, a bit deflated.

"What," Edelgard murmured, taking him by the arm and dragging him away, "was that about?"

"What?" he teased her. "Are you jealous?"

"The Almyran, Claude."

"Well, she has a name, you know."

"The _language_ , Claude!"

He laughed at her, hobbling a bit when she released him. He grinned at her, and planted his cane firmly on the ground.

"Well," he said, "I mean… I know it? I don't know what else to say. I know a few languages."

"A few?"

"Yes."

"Why," she said, "did I not know this?"

"Perhaps you just didn't notice," he said cheerfully. "On another note, I'm not too keen on how many Almyran servants I've seen here so far."

"Are they all Almyran?" Edelgard asked uncertainly. "That's… certainly odd. Do you think they're prisoners of war, or something?"

"I don't know." Claude hated not knowing. He'd heard Hilda talk about Almyrans before, and he'd tried to set her straight, but he'd never known about this. "I'm concerned, though."

"I can look into it," Edelgard said gently, "if you want me to."

Claude did not know what she meant at first, but then he remembered their unspoken deal that Edelgard would leave him at some point. He almost wished she hadn't said anything.

"I think there's a courtyard this way," he said, pointing with his cane. "Maybe there will be some flowers."

"You like flowers, don't you?"

"You don't?"

Edelgard shrugged. It was not an answer, and he had to wonder what she _did_ like. After all, he had many, many interests and hobbies beyond training and leading and scheming. Yet sometimes, when he thought about Edelgard, he could not imagine her sitting down to arrange flowers, or read poetry, or play music.

"Look at this," Claude said, pulling her toward a crawling plant that stretched over the arch of the courtyard. There was a hardy, sprawling vine blooming above them, and its hanging purple flowers shivered in the autumn wind. "I've never seen wisteria grow this well before."

"I never saw you in the gardens much at school," she said. "You clearly have a passion for it, so why weren't you there more often?"

"I like _looking_ at flowers," Claude laughed, "not growing them. I mean, I will do the hard labor if I've got to, but mostly I like identifying and labeling and sorting out the properties of plants."

"A regular botanist," she said softly.

"Here," Claude said, lifting a stalk of wisteria and plucking three small flowers from the vine. He poked the flowers into Edelgard's hair, and he laughed when she frowned up at him.

"Really?" she murmured.

"What?" Claude asked innocently. "It looks nice."

Edelgard tore a chunk of flowers from the vine, much less delicately than Claude had, and she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down so she could toss the flowers over his head and into his hair.

"It looks nice," she mocked him.

"I bet it does," he laughed.

Edelgard's eyes flickered over his face, searching it for something that he could not place. Then, she glanced aside for a moment, and she reached up and grasped Claude's cheek.

"What—?" he asked, laughing nervously.

"Holst is here," she murmured, her gaze flashing back up to his face. Once more she seemed to search him, and he found himself frozen. "Do you trust me?"

 _I'm a fool,_ he thought dazedly. The autumn sun had caught in her hair, and it played tricks with it, like it was freshly fallen snow. The flowers he had placed there slid away as she dug her fingers into the back of his neck. _She will leave me in an instant, and I will die alone, and nothing will change that._

He wanted to say no, because he did not trust her to stay, and he did not trust her to tell the truth, and he did not trust her with his heart any more than a dying man could.

But he nodded anyway.

What had he expected? She was such a good actor, it was like he had directed her himself.

Edelgard did not lean into him, but rather she guided him to her, scraping his hair back from his eyes and staring up at him. He could hear the unsteady rhythm of her breaths. He watched her nostrils flare as she seemed to consider her own actions, just as he considered his. The only thing she did to suggest a kiss was in progress was tip her chin up, just a little, and even then it was restrained.

How typical. Edelgard needed to be in control of him, and she needed him to move the way that she wanted, but she could not shake her own restraints. If they were actually going to kiss, he would need to be the one to initiate it.

But he couldn't do it. Instead, he laughed a breathy little laugh, and he knocked his forehead against hers gently.

"What's a kiss," he murmured, "anyway?"

Edelgard blinked up at him. Then, slowly, she smiled, and she loosened her grip on the back of his neck, so it felt more like she was cradling his head than gripping it.

With a small smile, one that grew very gradually, Edelgard turned her face into Claude's shoulder, and she laughed.

"Am I interrupting?" Holst asked.

When Claude turned to look at him, he was only a few feet away. He seemed almost guilty to stumble upon what appeared to be such an intimate moment. In reality, it had been an awkward and strange encounter, but he was relieved that they had both laughed it off.

"Did you need something?" Claude asked.

"I… suppose not," Holst said. He stared at Claude, and Claude stared back, until finally the man frowned and turned away.

Later that night, Claude and Edelgard were summoned to Holst's room. Without much of an explanation, Holst told them that he would give them two horses and enough supplies to last a few weeks in the wilderness.

If he did not trust Edelgard before, he thought he might now.


	3. Chapter 3

Claude had them cover their hair before they left. That was no trouble for Lysithea, who'd already had a purple veil handy, but Edelgard was a bit confused. She assumed it was a cultural thing, but when she said so, Claude laughed.

"I mean," he said, "kind of? It's not an uncommon thing for Almyran men or women to cover their heads, but you'll see as many people going without. No, this is because we all have very in-your-face white hair. Do you want to get robbed?"

"Well," she replied, "not particularly, but I suppose we'll see where the day takes us."

Claude produced two scarves, one cream colored with blue embroidery trimming it, and another yellow with green adornments. He asked if he could braid her hair, and the question surprised her.

"It'll keep it in place," he said quickly. "You know, you don't want it to slip out. Get a weird look because you've got white hair."

"I'm sure I'd get weird looks anyway," Edelgard sighed. But she resigned herself to pulling the purple ribbons from her hair and allowing him to gently drag his fingers through it. Then, he nimbly sectioned off her hair and partitioned it just enough so he could lace a thick plait across the top of her head. He sewed the braids together so the braid became one single band wrapped around her scalp.

Her fingers prodded the braid, testing how sturdy it truly was. It felt tight and well crafted, which was astonishing. Claude did not seem to notice her approval, or if he did he ignored it. He tossed the cream scarf over her head lazily, and then reached out to Lysithea.

"Your turn, little lady."

"What did you just call me?" Lysithea asked sharply.

She elbowed Claude in the stomach, but eventually she did sit down and allow him to braid her hair back from her face. Her bangs were giving him some difficulty, so in the end, after he used a leather cord with an amethyst hanging from it to tie off the end of the braid, he merely took her purple veil and tugged it over her forehead.

"If anyone approaches us," he told her sternly, "you make sure this is covering your hair. You got it?"

"I understand," Lysithea sighed. "I _know_ white hair is abnormal, no matter where you go. I suppose most Almyrans have brown hair?"

"Mostly. Some have black. I met a few redheads in my childhood, but—"

That garnered identical bewildered looks from both Lysithea and Edelgard. For a moment, Claude sat on a rock, frowning a bit. Then he stood, pushed his cane into the earth, and walked slowly to the horses.

"Did he just say that?" Edelgard asked sharply. "Am I imagining it?"

"No," Lysithea said dazedly, "I… definitely heard that too. Do you think he lived in Goneril? Most Almyrans tend to settle there."

It seemed so simple now. To imagine Claude as a child, to imagine him running in a wide open plain like this. With grass up to his chin, ducking into the wild with a grin and a laugh. She watched his back as he stroked the side of the dark mare Holst had given them. He had changed before leaving Goneril, and the clothes he wore were far looser. He'd traded the yellow doublet for a white one, with a richly embroidered green robe thrown over it. For some reason, Edelgard had thought it might be warmer in Almyra, but he'd bundled himself up clothing she did not recognize, as if he knew the climate.

"That's not it," Edelgard sighed. She shook her head, and she turned to Lysithea. "You must see it too. You're a clever girl."

Lysithea's expression seemed to crumple, and it occurred to Edelgard that she might have figured it out a long time ago, and had only been misdirecting Edelgard for Claude's benefit.

She had to admire that loyalty.

"It doesn't matter," Edelgard murmured. She wondered if she was speaking to Lysithea or to herself. "It's not important. He hasn't told us, so…"

Lysithea fiddled with the end of her purple veil. Her anxiety was palpable. It seemed to seep into the very soil beneath them, and make the grass turn brown.

"Here," Edelgard said, readjusting Lysithea's scarf so it covered most of her white hair. "Keep this tight, okay? If we're right, then we need to listen to Claude. He knows more about this place than us."

"I'm worried about him," Lysithea murmured, her eyes darting to where Claude stood among the horses. "He _seems_ better, but I feel like he's already given up."

"A year is not a long time," Edelgard said cautiously.

"You know it might not be a year." Lysithea inhaled sharply through her nose, and she bundled her cloak around her tightly. The wind had picked up across the prairie. "The more time I spend around him, the more I'm convinced he won't die as soon as he thinks. What if we have more time than we think? What if we could have gone back to the monastery—"

"Then we have more time to get Claude somewhere safe," Edelgard said firmly, "and find a cure ourselves."

Lysithea looked up at her with wide, beseeching eyes, like she did not quite believe her but she _wanted_ to. And that desperation might be the death of her. Because Edelgard wanted so badly to help these two, to help _herself_ , but she had already pledged too much of her time to this. Who knew what would happen when she returned. Perhaps Hubert had been caught, and perhaps she'd already lost.

Though, if she had a mage as powerful and talented as Lysithea on her side, it was possible it did not matter if Hubert had been caught.

The thought struck her as very cruel and callous, and she shook her head furiously. If she thought too hard about things like that, if she did the calculations inside her head of who she could lose, who she could use, and who she could replace, she might lose her mind and her heart all in one go.

Edelgard turned away, feeling ashamed and confused, but her wrist was snatched up in a small hand.

"Do you mean that?" Lysithea asked eagerly. "Would you swear to me that you mean it?"

And of course Edelgard _wanted_ to mean it, but there were too many possibilities. The idea that she might die at any given time, due to war, due to her own terrible schemes. She wondered if Claude found it ironic that he was notorious for his schemes and plots, when he knew well that she was the one with something awful in the works.

"Yes," Edelgard said, kneeling before Lysithea and taking her hand in both of hers. "I swear it, Lysithea. I will do everything in my power to save you _and_ Claude. Though I might be distracted with my own country's affairs, I will make it a priority to get the researchers necessary to examine your Crests and find a way to remove them."

Lysithea's eyes were so big that Edelgard could see the tears welling up in them. She blinked them away fast, and she nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I… I cannot express how much that means to me."

"You don't need to," Edelgard told her gently. "All I need from you is for you to stay alive. Okay?"

Lysithea gripped her hands tight. She nodded firmly.

* * *

The riverbed was soft, and his cane kept sinking into it. There was a chill in the air, and he worried, the farther they went north along the river, that it might snow. They had been in Almyra four days, and the sun glinted off the lapping waves of the river, but the air seemed to want to cut through his skin.

The first night, they'd been forced to make camp. It had been cold, and they'd huddled for warmth under a blanket that Holst had provided them. Before they had left, Claude had made Holst swear that he would not tell anyone, not even Hilda, about what was happening. He trusted Edelgard to set the record straight later.

He would likely be angry, but Claude did not mind. Hilda would be angry too. He had not said goodbye.

The second night, they had found a village, and Claude had dug out his worn silk pouch with velvet drawstrings, and he'd slid a gold coin to the owner of a small riverside inn.

"My sisters and I are traveling to Moonflower Bay," he'd said. "Nader trained them."

"Nader," the innkeeper had said, her frown deep as she pocketed the coin without a word. "He's come back, then? Last I heard he turned tail toward the west."

"He visits our neighbors on occasion," Claude had said, his smile tight. "He is always watching, you know. Never know when a war might break out."

"True enough." The innkeeper took a key from the rung behind her and slid it to him. "I have not heard news out of the Bay in months. Is the prince still traveling?"

Traveling. Yes, that had been the lie that Claude's father had cooked up. Most common folk were aware of his mother's position as a foreigner, though not many knew from _where_ exactly. Some nobles did, and a few servants, but the farther from the capital he got, the less people seemed to know anything about him.

They knew he was smart, and they knew he was slippery.

"I'm not sure," he'd said. "I've only ever met him once. He's a dodgy character."

"I've heard as much," the woman had sniffed.

The third night, they'd stayed in a kind old farmer's barn. Claude had left a gold coin on the folded blanket the farmer had given them before they'd left.

Now, he stooped down to drink shakily from the icy water. Edelgard and Lysithea were upstream a bit, chatting casually as they gathered brambles from nearby foliage. They got along very well, which did not surprise him. They were rather alike, if he had to admit it. Both of them were snippy and indignant, both of them were full of raw talent and potential, both of them were hardworking to a fault. They _could_ be sisters. Claude was the odd one out here.

A crash on the water had him jerking to his feet, and he fumbled for his bow in a desperate sort of grab before he saw Lysithea using a long stick to drag what appeared to be a rather fat salmon to the sand. When Claude moved closer, he saw the salmon sported a blackened hole in its right side, as if it had been speared by a lightning bolt.

"Did you just electrify the whole river?" he asked her curiously.

"Of course not," Lysithea scoffed, prodding the fish's head with her stick. "It was a fire spell, and it was jumping anyway."

"Stop poking it like that," Edelgard sighed, scooping up the salmon and setting it on a nearby rock. "Lysithea, could you start the fire? Claude, give me a hand with gutting this."

They ate together without complaint. The sun was going down, and though they were close to the Bay, he knew they would not arrive before sundown. Their horses remained nearby, chewing long grass contentedly. Lysithea and Claude had taken one, and Edelgard had taken the other.

"You never told us," Edelgard said, "who we are meeting in the capital."

Lysithea, who had been nibbling on the flesh of her chunk of salmon, froze. The way her eyes flickered to Edelgard made Claude wonder how much they knew, or had figured out. It did not surprise him, though he was honestly relieved if they _had_ figured out the truth, since it would be less shocking when they made it to the Bay.

Claude licked his lips. They had come this far with him, hadn't they?

"I have family there," he admitted, feeling strange and unnerved by admitting it. Worse, he felt _ashamed_ , and that made him dizzy and nauseous. He tossed the rest of his salmon into the crackling fire and watched the flame rise. "I… can't explain it. Not right now. But I will, soon."

"You don't have to explain anything," Edelgard said gently.

"You _should_ explain some things," Lysithea muttered.

Edelgard shot Lysithea a stern, disapproving look. Claude was startled by it. Because Lysithea seemed to respond to it wordlessly, her eyes flashing to Edelgard's pointedly. When had they gotten this close? When his back had been turned toward the river? When his heart had been turned toward the sea?

"I—" It struck him that he could not think of what to say. He took a deep breath, and pushed through it. "It's— it's not— you know I'll explain as much as I can, but…"

"Your father," Lysithea cut in, her voice sharp and assuming, "he is Almyran?"

Claude sucked in a deep breath. Here it was. He stared into the fire, and he imagined himself small and silly, bundled in a fox pelt, listening to his father snore at his desk.

"Yes."

"What's his name?"

"Arash."

"How did they meet?"

Claude chuckled a little. It had been _Judith_ who had told him this story, which stung a bit now that he thought about it. His parents had kept secrets just as well as he did. Close to their chests, pretending the past did not exist until it suited them.

"You're killing me, Lysithea," he said lightly.

"I just want to know." She frowned at him. "Am I being insensitive? These are your parents, not your enemies."

"I know that. You're just funny, that's all."

"What about me is funny?" Lysithea demanded.

"I meant, it's— it's funny. It's cute. _You're_ cute."

"I don't want to be cute," Lysithea huffed. "I just want to know things. Like how your parents met."

"Alright, alright," he sighed, waving her off. "I'll tell you. I don't know the details, because they don't like to talk to me about these things. But, from what I've been told, my father snuck across the border for sport one summer. He'd had a bet with a friend that he could kill a deer, cut of its head, nail it to the palace door in Derdriu, and return home with the antlers by the end of the Blue Sea Moon."

"That's a little much," Edelgard said quietly.

"And your mother found this gesture romantic?" Lysithea wrinkled her nose. "I don't get it."

"Oh," Claude laughed, trying to imagine what his mother might have done if his father had _succeeded_. It probably would have been his father's head nailed to the door, when he thought about it. "No, it never came to that. See, the minute my father got close enough to a deer to slay it— it had been a rule, I guess, that they could not use their bows, because it would be too easy— well, the deer was felled by an arrow. And so was my father."

"What?" Lysithea blinked up at him in awe. "He got shot?"

"By my mother," Claude said, smirking a bit, "yeah."

"Well," Edelgard said, "serves him right."

"My mother thought so too, apparently. Anyway, I don't really know how that turned into a romance, but apparently they fell quickly in love. While he was healing from being shot, he stayed in Derdriu. He pretended to be a… scholar, I think? He offered to teach my grandfather conversational Almyran. Judith told me he once told her he would gladly serve as a diplomat, and bridge the gap between our two countries."

"Oh," Lysithea murmured. "Oh no… your grandfather must have been furious."

"You saw him," Claude said with a shrug. "He's still clinging to that grudge. I think he likes me fine, and might have even loved me if I'd never lived in Almyra, but truthfully I don't think he will ever look at me and see _me_. Not the thing that stole his daughter from him, not the spawn of his enemy, but as me. As Claude."

He realized, with a sudden pang of regret, that Caius never would. Perhaps when he read Claude's letter, which he must have by now, he would understand. Perhaps Caius would be just as full of regret as Claude was.

"Anyway," he said quickly, ignoring the two girls' frowns, "that's how they met. Any more questions, Lysithea?"

"No," Lysithea murmured, "that was all."

That night, they slept close to the fire. Lysithea remained wedged between him and Edelgard, which he was thankful for.

It was no secret to him that he was probably a bit more than fond of her, and Lysithea was a safe spot for him. The little sister he'd never had, and the perfect wall between him and disaster.

If he played his almost-kiss with Edelgard over in his head, he felt both relieved and foolish. Because he could have kissed her, and part of him regretted not doing it. Yet another part of him was so glad that he'd stopped it, because it would torture him to wonder how much of it was an act.

Listening to Lysithea breathe close to his ear calmed him down. There was no need to stress over Edelgard. Soon she would feel that she had paid whatever she felt she owned him in full, and she would be gone before he could blink. Then he could maybe be at peace for as long as he had left. In the gardens. By the sea. In the library. Under the fur pelt.

Very suddenly, as the fire was dying, Edelgard bolted upright with a gasp.

Her fingers flew to her throat, and she wheezed and sputtered, struggling for breath. Claude sat up quickly and reached over Lysithea, his hand falling gently on her shoulder.

She smacked it away without even glancing at him. Her hand whipped through her loose, silvery hair, and when her eyes slid toward him, she looked like a ghost in the yellow light of the dying fire. Her purple eyes were tinged red, and she glared up at him through ribbons of stringy white hair.

Then, blinking rapidly, the tension in her face fell away. Her expression crumpled, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Claude?" she mumbled.

"Yeah?" He sat, his hand stinging from her slap, and he stared at her as she hung her head. She dragged her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them. "Hey. It's okay, you know. It was a nightmare."

She did not answer. Instead, she sat there, her head between her knees, and he listened to the water lap on the bank, and the frogs croak and belch, and the crickets chatter, and the remnants of the fire hiss.

"It was just a nightmare," he repeated, this time with much more confidence. "You're here. You're here, with me, and with Lysithea, and nothing is going to hurt you."

"It's not _me_ ," she snapped, raising her head ever so slightly to glare at him once more, "that I am worried about."

Between them, Lysithea stirred a bit, and she lifted her head a bit. She peered between the two of them, groaned, and turned her face into Claude's side. Instinctively, he placed his hand on her head and smoothed her bangs from her face.

Edelgard's eyes followed the movement of his hand, and he had to wonder.

"I'm sorry for assuming," he said. "You must have a great deal to worry about."

"You make it sound so flippant," she said bitterly.

"I didn't mean it that way, you know. That's just how my voice sounds."

"Claude…"

"What?" He smiled at her, hoping that his teasing was not out of place. "Come on, Edelgard. We're nearly there, and then you can go back to where all your worries are."

She took a deep, unsteady breath, and she smoothed her hair behind her ears. As she turned to face him fully, he saw that her eyes were glistening, and he felt suddenly very guilty.

"My worries follow me wherever I go," she said curtly. "It does not matter how far I stray from them physically. They will haunt me until I die."

"That sounds like a terrible life," Claude said softly, "filled with many burdens."

"I did not exactly have the opportunity to choose another one." Edelgard looked past him, perhaps into the embers of the dying flames. "Besides, it is the only life I have. I'd sooner live it than give it up."

For some reason, he felt that might have been a dig at him. He could not argue with that sentiment, though. He was certainly living his life as best as he could, at the moment.

"I trust that you will," Claude said softly. Because she _would_ live. Perhaps not as long as she would have if she had never been tortured, but she would live longer than him, and she would shape the world as she saw fit. He wished to see that world, despite everything.

Claude felt Lysithea shudder against his side, and he bound the blanket tighter around her, holding her close to him.

"When you leave," he said, "would you watch out for her?"

"You don't have to ask me that."

"But I _do_ ," he insisted, watching Edelgard turn her face away abruptly. "I care about all of them, you know. I… don't know what will happen. You know, in the future. But I want the friends I've made to be safe and happy."

"I cannot guarantee that," she said softly.

"You can guarantee that you will _try_ ," he said frowning at her. "I don't believe you're so cold hearted that you'd deny me that, at least."

"Claude… the future that I see myself in…" She shook her head fiercely. "It is not pretty, and it is not safe. It is bloody and cold, and if any Deer gets in my way—"

"You'll kill them?" he demanded. "You'd cut down Ignatz, or Marianne? You'd deny them the dignity of defending themselves?"

"If they get in my way," she said, her voice cool and unwavering, "yes."

"That is no way to gain respect," he told her, watching her shoulders stiffen, "and if I met you on the battlefield, if I had the choice to put an arrow through your heart or to speak with you as frankly as I am now, do you think I'd cut you down?"

"No."

"But you would not afford me that kindness. Would you?"

"No."

" _Why?_ " He searched her face wildly, the wind picking up and toying with her hair so ghostly tendrils danced around her head. "We are the _same_. We have been through the same things, and we have walked the same path, but apparently our goals differ so drastically that you cannot spare me or my people the time to speak."

"We are _not_ the same," she told him sharply. "You are a kind person. You believe in— in peaceful cooperation, and negotiation. You think that the world will change through dialogue and alliances. I believe this world will only be at peace once it is red with the blood of those who rule it unjustly."

"This is a vendetta against— what?" He frowned at her. "The Church?"

"I don't expect you to understand."

"You don't expect much from me, do you?" he asked with a soft snort. "Honestly, Edelgard, you think I don't agree that the Church is a borderline criminal organization? I don't think they should have the amount of power they do either."

She shook her head. And as much as he wanted to be angry with her, he could not find it in him. She had her goals, as he'd had his, and nothing would sway her from the future she'd set her eyes upon.

Even if, frankly, he could not see how her way, the _blood paved_ way, as she called it, was any better than discussions and debates.

"Are the people who did this to us," he said, "part of the Church?"

"I…" She looked up at him, and he saw the shock in her eyes. "No, I don't think so. But it does not matter. Once I finish with the Church, I will turn my eyes to them—"

"Why?"

"What?"

" _Why_?" he demanded. "Why the Church first and then the evil people who experiment on children after? I don't understand, the Church will be there once those people are dead. You cannot guarantee that the people who did this will be there when you've waged your bloody war."

The look Edelgard gave him suggested she had not considered that.

"I've made up my mind," she said. "I can't turn back now."

"There is always time to change," he said to her gently. "All you need to do is wake up tomorrow, and feel that you can do better. Believe that you can be better."

"I do not become better," she said. "Only worse."

"That's a matter of perspective, I think."

"I've made my decision, Claude," she snapped at him. "Your pretty words and hollow optimism will not change my fate."

"The fate that _you_ have decided for yourself."

"Yes. Would you rather I allow someone else decide it for me?"

"If _you_ have decided your fate," he insisted, "then _you_ can change it! It's so simple."

"Nothing about this is simple."

"I'm not saying to demolish everything you've planned," Claude sighed, "I'm saying perhaps do not go headlong into the fray believing that mass casualties are the only way to win a war. A war can be words. A war can be in your head. You will lose a thousand battles with yourself before you'll ever win against your enemy."

"I kind of hate this side of you," she said, shooting him a glare. "If I am, in fact, leaving soon, do you truly want me to leave hating you?"

"If speaking my mind rather than mindlessly agreeing to your flawed ideals causes you to hate me," he said, "perhaps you should have left me at the border, like I told you to."

That did not make her happy. She stared at him coolly, and she stood up. She dusted herself off, and turned away.

"Edelgard," he gasped, guilt stabbing him as he reached out for her. "Wait. I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant." She did not turn around. She did not even both to stop walking.

He thought, in that moment, that he'd probably lost her forever.

"Okay, Lysithea," he sighed, "I know you're awake."

 _How could she not be,_ he thought, _with all that noise?_

She sat up cautiously, her blanket sliding from her shoulders. Her hair bounced around her head in feathery tufts. She looked up at him, and her expression was taut with pain.

"You weren't wrong," she said quietly, "but… I don't know if she was either."

"I know." Claude sighed, and he reached out, smoothing down the dislodged little white feathers of her hair. "If she comes back, I'll apologize, but— you know, I think it needed to be said. She is going to do terrible things, and… I like her, you know."

"Oh," Lysithea huffed, "I _know_."

"What's that?" Claude laughed a bit, tilting his head at her. "What's that face for?"

"Claude," Lysithea said, scowling up at him, "are you in love with her?"

"In—" He choked on another laugh, nearly toppling into the fire. "What? What gave you that idea?"

"Literally everything." She slumped a bit, as though she was growing unsure. "Listen, I won't blame you."

"I'm not in love with her," Claude said steadily, placing his hands on Lysithea's shoulders. "I _do_ like her. Perhaps I might have fallen in love with her, if she did not have a war going on in her heart, or if I had the time. But I can't help but feeling like I've lost the chance to love anyone."

"I know." Lysithea took a deep breath. She nodded very fiercely. "I _know_ that feeling, but— Claude, if you care about her— if, even for a moment, you think that you could love her, you should tell her that."

"Why?" he asked her with a bitter smile. "I don't need a kiss of pity from the Imperial princess. She's already got so many burdens, and the love of a dying man is not one she needs at the moment."

"You don't know that it'd be pity," Lysithea said. "Maybe—"

"You're a secret romantic," Claude teased her, ruffling the hair he had just fixed and watching her huff and squirm. "I love that. But she is going to live a lot longer than I will, and… even if I _do_ have a _crush_ on her— which I am not saying I do— it doesn't matter. She's gone, anyway."

"I won't go with her," Lysithea said firmly. "If she really does leave, I won't leave you."

"Lysithea—"

"No!" She whacked his hand from her head, and she jumped to her feet. "Listen to me! You are the only person who knows how I feel."

"Edelgard—"

"The three of us might have had the same terrible thing happen," Lysithea said fiercely, "but you're the one who feels like they are running out of time. _You're_ the one who would forsake happiness because you don't want to hurt anyone with loving someone doomed to die. Edelgard's got plans, and she's got— I guess she has a war, and that's fine, but all I've ever wanted is to work hard with what I've got left and make my family proud. Claude, _you're_ the person who asks me about my research, and carries me to bed when I fall asleep in the library. I'm loyal to _you_. Not Edelgard."

The memories of the library in Garreg Mach, where he'd tease and prod the girl endlessly, filled him up with a stinging sorrow. Because no one, not even Edelgard, could know how he was feeling in this instance. No one but Lysithea. And she felt the same.

How could he send her away?

"You would do better with Edelgard," he murmured.

"I don't care."

"You're strong. You could help her find a cure."

"What's the point," Lysithea demanded, "if that means losing you?"

"Because I want _you_ to live." Claude smiled at her dazedly. "What don't you understand about that?"

"I won't leave you," Lysithea said.

"Lysithea—"

"I _won't_ leave you!" she cried, stomping her foot. "You can't make me. You _can't_. I won't go with Edelgard, and I won't go on my own, either."

With a heavy heart, and a defeated sigh, he stood. His knees hurt, and his joints creaked, but he stood anyway. He stepped toward her, and he wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders and pulled her to his chest.

"I won't make you," he murmured, lowering his chin against her hair. "I can't make you. But— you know I love you, don't you?"

She stiffened a bit in his arms. Then, as a moment passed, she wrapped his arms slowly around his chest, and buried her face in it.

"Yes," she mumbled. "I know."

"Then it doesn't really matter, does it? What happens with Edelgard? What happens with you? Because I'm happy knowing you're here, _now_ , by my side. Okay, Lysithea?"

Her grip around him tightened considerably.

"Okay," she whispered.

* * *

Claude was a fool. She'd always thought so, and now she knew so. He was idealistic and blind. What did _he_ know about war? About change? How could he know anything, when he'd so readily thrown his life away?

Yet, could she blame him? If she had been told she had a year left, would she have done any different?

She spent hours in the dark, pacing the length of the river. She cried some angry tears, shivered in the cold wind, and paced some more. Because it was not fair that they'd argued about this, not when they had been getting along so well. They'd been getting along so well that she _might_ have actually told him, in confidence, what she was planning.

Now, though, he was left with half the truth and all the judgmental aftermath. She _knew_ what she was going to do was risky, and that it would never sit well morally for anyone with a steady conscience, but did she care? Honestly?

No. Not usually.

But she cared what Claude thought. She _did_. That frustrated her more, because she couldn't even deny it now. It would be useless. After all, she had come this far just to make him feel at ease, how could she not care?

In another life, maybe she might have asked him to join her.

She wondered what it would take for him to agree.

As the sky lightened on the horizon, she scraped back her hair into a loose ponytail and she trudged back to their makeshift camp. By the time she got to it, the horizon was not just a bit lighter than black, it was gray and misty.

Beside the ashes of their fire, Claude laid with Lysithea curled against his chest. He held her tight, a blanket wrapped around them.

She sat down in the cool, damp grass, and she took a whetstone to the dagger that Dimitri had returned to her. The motion of the stone against the blade soothed her nerves.

Claude woke first. Perhaps all those days of sleeping for hours on end had gotten to him, because he hardly slept anymore. He lifted his head ever so slightly, and she saw his smirk from a mile away.

"Come to cut our throats and bake us into pies, huntswoman?" he asked her loftily.

The stone paused mid-stroke, and she shot him a blank look. Perhaps he was citing a fairytale she did not know.

"That is a strange suggestion," she said. "Would that be your final wish?"

"If you were doing the killing, perhaps."

"A charmer," she sighed, "as ever."

He sat up, shook out the wisps of his white hair, and he glanced at her curiously. She stared at him, and he smiled down at his lap.

"I'm glad you came back," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, you know. But I'm glad that you did not leave."

She did not mention that she felt she owed it to him. She did not even really think about it. Instead, she stuck her knife between her teeth, and she tugged her hair from the messy ponytail she'd thrown it into.

"Would you fix this?" she asked, pulling her knife from her mouth and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Claude grinned at her. He seemed more than happy to oblige.

She felt his fingers rake through her hair, and as angry as she had been with him, she could not help but wonder if any of that mattered. It was not like he would stand in the way of her plans. He had merely been offering her a different point of view.

Honestly, if he was not as sick as he was, she probably would have discussed this with him further. Maybe even have recruited him. He was smart, perhaps almost as smart as Byleth. She knew she could have used him in a similar way that she could have used the professor. If she had managed to recruit both of them, Edelgard would have felt unstoppable.

That was a daydream now, though. Claude was very ill, and she had to accept that and not linger on what could have beens.

Lysithea woke as Claude was finishing up her crown of braids. He smoothed out any stray hairs, and he smiled at her gently.

"You look every bit a princess," he said.

"With dirt on my trousers," she said amusedly, "and a knife in my hands?"

"The best kind of princess. An untamable one."

"Edelgard?" Lysithea sat up, and she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. "You… have returned?"

"I have." Edelgard sheathed her knife in her boot and crouched on the balls of her feet before Lysithea. She offered out her hand. "I would not leave you. Not alone with this oaf."

Lysithea scoffed slightly, but she did smile, and that made Edelgard smile back. Claude had turned to look down at Lysithea, his eyes wide.

"You think I'm an oaf?" he said, pouting.

"Well," Lysithea said, "I can hardly argue with the assessment—"

"Lysithea, you _traitor_! I'm not doing your hair for this."

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "I am fully capable of braiding my own hair, thank you."

"Sure," Claude said, "but don't you want it to look pretty?"

Lysithea's eyes flashed wide, and she gaped at him for a moment before picking up their shared blanket and hurling it at his head. He laughed all the while, stumbling a bit and nearly toppling over. Edelgard leapt to her feet and grabbed him by the arm, steadying him as he continued to laugh despite nearly crashing to the ground.

"You know," Edelgard sighed, "I imagine if I'd really left you, you would die before you ever got to the Bay."

She did not know the name of the city that Claude had been born in. He'd said it to her, but she could not pronounce it, which made her feel foolish. When he'd told her to just call it the Bay, as most Almyran's called it that (in Almyran), she was relieved. Still, she wished she could find a way to say it without embarrassing herself.

"Give us some credit," Claude said, bumping his shoulder against hers with bright eyes. "She probably wouldn't have killed me, just lightly maimed me."

"You worry me," she sighed. It was strange that they were not addressing their fight. Should she bring it up? It seemed like such a sweet, pure moment, and she did not want to ruin it. Yet she could not help feeling the rift between them. "I have enough to concern myself over without adding your safety to the mix."

"I know that," Claude said. He smiled at her in a strange, reluctant way, and she released him with a frown. His smiles were strange and dangerous things. She would get caught up in one, like a butterfly in a spider's web, if she was not careful.

Lysithea insisted on taking the mare for herself when they started toward the town again. In response, Claude had made a face that expressed his irritation, but he gestured broadly to the other horse as he leaned against his cane.

"Ladies first," he said brightly.

"No," she said. "I'm helping you on, and you will ride in front of me."

His smile was very tight, but he did not object.

On their way to the Bay, they rode along the river— which Claude called the Vine— until it met the sea. They began to see stalls and storefronts, and Edelgard adjusted her scarf before sliding off their horse and leading it by the reins.

A woman selling fruits in an orange painted stall shouted at them as they passed. Edelgard, who could not understand a word of the hagglers, pressed on. Yet, from his seat atop the horse, Claude shouted back at her. Edelgard paused, and she reached up to snatch Lysithea's reins to stop her horse from going on ahead. People were squeezing by, giving them odd looks, but never stopping to really ask why they were there.

Claude continued to speak, and Edelgard watched his eyes light up as the woman spoke back. He nodded eagerly, and he pulled his coin purse from his pocket and clapped Edelgard on the shoulder with it.

"Give her two of the iron pieces, and hide a silver piece beneath them."

"You are very needy," she murmured. They were not supposed to talk around people, she knew, because they did not want to garner suspicion. Nobody liked foreigners here, which was not unlike home.

She dug through the purse, gathering what he told her, and she handed it back to him before walking up to the stand. The woman was already relocating a particularly odd shaped plum, a number of them, from their crate into a basket. They traded metal for wares, and Edelgard returned to Claude with the basket of purple fruits that looked like heads of garlic that had been left in stove coals.

"Here," Claude gasped offering her one. "Try one."

"Um…"

"Please?" His smile was almost infectious. She had to give in. "They're figs. I'm surprised you don't have them in Adestria, with your climate."

She bit into it, and she was surprised at the texture of its flesh as the many seeds within it slid between her teeth. The taste was not unpleasant, but she'd never tasted anything quite like it, so she chewed it slowly to savor it.

"This is yummy, Claude," Lysithea gasped. Edelgard saw that Claude had offered her a fruit as well.

"I…" Edelgard sighed, "I will admit, this is good. A fig, you said?"

"Yeah."

She hummed contentedly, sucking the juice from off her thumb and continuing to lead them down the street. The palace, which was visible, was on a crag that overlooked the sea. The street they were on led them to the gate, where two guards glared at them. She could see the palace from where she stood, and it was ornate and the sheer size and number of the domes that made up the structure dazzled her. Not to mention the roof seemed to be made of sapphires, it was so blue. It was bluer than the sky above it, and bluer than the sea beneath it.

"Claude," Edelgard said softly. He _had_ mentioned the palace in passing as somewhere he needed to go. Nader, the man who had trained him as a child, was currently stationed there. She had assumed they would go to his childhood home first, though.

The guards had heard her, and they blinked up at Claude confusedly. One man said something very loud and very bold, and disappeared through the gate. Claude sighed as he did so.

"What's happening?" Lysithea asked quietly.

"Don't worry," Claude said. He did not sound very assuring, and when Edelgard turned to look up at him, he had a strange, anxious expression on his face. His yellow scarf, which had been wrapped a few time around his forehead, was slipping, and a lock of white hair was visible from beneath the hood of his robe. He frowned deeply, and he leaned over the top of the horse's head to say something to the remaining guard. It sounded a bit like a question.

The guard scowled at him, and said nothing.

"Claude," Edelgard said, wrapping the reins of the horse around her hand twice, "we should go. I don't like this."

Claude steadied the horse's head, and he hushed it gently as it became skittish when Edelgard tugged at it. He looked at her, and his eyes seemed to burn with intensity and some kind of emotion that she did not recognize inside his eyes. Fury? Determination? Absolute despair?

She could not know.

The gate was flung open suddenly, and Edelgard jerked back. She dropped the reins of the horse, and she reached for her knife as a burly, bearded man with a scarred and scowling face appeared with a drawn bow and an arrow aimed at Claude's heart.

In a second, Claude had a bow in his hand.

"Claude," Lysithea shrieked, throwing herself off her horse and rushing to his side, " _don't_!"

Claude nocked the arrow anyway. His fingers were trembling, and Edelgard saw the way he stared at his hands before taking a deep breath. She scrambled forward and caught Lysithea around the waist, dragging her back as he stared down the man before them. If she got shot, they had no one to heal her. If _Claude_ got shot, at the very least Lysithea could do something.

"Show your face, boy," the man said. His voice was not unkind, to Edelgard's surprise.

Claude did not let go of his bow, and he did not tear his gaze from the man. Instead he sat, and he waited, and when the man scoffed and released his arrow, Lysithea screamed. There was magic buzzing in the air, and Edelgard realized it was not coming from Lysithea.

The bowstring in Claude's hand grew taut in an instant, and he drew it back as though it were the easiest thing in the world. As though his muscles had not atrophied, as though he was not losing himself to his own decaying mind, as though he had never stopped training and he had never been tortured at all.

She saw it, and the sheer heat of it made her scream just as loudly as Lysithea, because it _burned_ as it manifested. A fire, a sun, swirling into life around Claude, the Crest blooming out of a radiant, blinding golden light, and she recognized the circle and the spires, and she wondered if Claude had known he held the Chevalier Crest within him. Perhaps he had never tried to tap into it before.

When Claude released the arrow, it was a fiery star that streaked through the air, and it knocked into the other arrow in midair. Both arrows splintered apart in a burst of strange orange light, like the sun itself had hiccupped and a sliver of it had flared to life before them before dissipating.

The man stood there, his eyes very wide, and he stared at the charred stone where the blast had struck the ground.

Claude wavered. The golden rays that seemed to integrate into him, a reflection of the sun off water, shuddered like a mirage, and he shuddered with them. As they fell away, he fell too. He slid off the saddle and Edelgard jerked herself forward, releasing Lysithea and throwing her arms out. He was not heavy, and she caught him before he hit the ground.

"Claude," she gasped, falling to her knees and readjusting her grip on him. He was awake, she saw, but his eyes were glazed over. She put her hand to his cheek, and it felt too warm for her liking. " _Claude_. Wake up!"

"Move!" Lysithea snarled, sweeping down on the other side of Claude and swinging her hand over him in a semi-circle. Knowing how fickle magic could be, Edelgard set Claude on the ground and skittered back while Lysithea jerked her two fingers in a sharp, jagged motion, tracing a rune over Claude's heart and then blowing air softly against the magical seal she had made. It thudded like a heartbeat, and Claude jerked upright with a gasp.

"Idiot!" Lysithea cried, tearful and furious. "Why would you use your other Crest? You know how dangerous that is!"

"You do it all the time," he objected. His hood had fallen off, and his white hair was sticking up all over the place.

"Yes, but I've been living with them for thirteen years!" She shook her head. "I've worked _hard_ to manage these Crests, and there's a reason I don't react the way you just did! It's because I know how to use them! Idiot!"

"I'm sorry," he said, blinking rapidly.

"You should be!" Lysithea swung her face around to glare up at the scarred man, who had approached them. "You!"

"Ah, Lysithea—!" Claude reached for Lysithea, but she had already jumped to her feet and begun a spell. "Stop! He's a friend!"

"He did just try to kill you," Edelgard said softly.

"So? Lysithea, do you hear me? I'll use my Crest again to stop you if you don't quit it!"

Lysithea, who had been in the middle of crafting a rather nasty spell by the look of it, shot Claude a look that seemed to cut through him. The man looked down at her, and he laughed a bit.

"Where did you pick this one up, kiddo?" the man asked. Edelgard was surprised when she understood him. She could hear a trace of an accent, but that was all. A _trace_. She stared up at the man with wide eyes. "I know some dark magic when I see one. She was about to have my brain land in the bay and my eyes in the river."

"Ah…" Claude laughed sheepishly. "You know me. Always picking up strays."

"Claude Soft-heart," the man mocked, a smile drawing across his lips. "Friend of the flowers, king of the frogs. Oh, I remember."

The man offered out his hand, and Claude looked more relieved than Edelgard had ever seen him. He reached up and clapped the man on the forearm, allowing himself to be hefted up. She rose to her feet with him.

"Shit!" The man gripped Claude's shoulder and stared down at him. "You don't weigh a thing! What's happened to you?"

"It—" Claude's eyes widened. He leaned forward, his mouth open, and not a word came out. In his panic, he whirled around to face Edelgard, and he looked down at her desperately for aid.

"He's been through an ordeal," Edelgard said, stepping forward with her head held high. "Don't press him for details, please. You won't get much."

"I hardly recognized you," the man said, essentially ignoring Edelgard and focusing on Claude. "I knew you'd deflect that shot, if it was you, but I couldn't be sure. You'll forgive me, won't you?"

"Of course," Claude blurted, reached out and grappling at the front of the man's green tunic. "Nader, I know I look different. I knew this would happen. _I'm_ sorry that I didn't warn you I was coming."

"You're sorry?" The man, Nader, laughed a bit. "You alright, kiddo?

Claude's mouth opened once more, and he closed it just as fast. He shook his head furiously. He let go of Nader and took a large step back. Edelgard had to grab his shoulders to steady him.

"I need—" Claude took a deep breath. He lifted his head a bit higher, and he swallowed so hard she saw his throat bob. "I _need_ to speak to my father."

"What?" Nader winced. " _Now_? Claude—"

"I'm not asking, Nader." The way Claude's voice changed in that instant alarmed her. The softness, the desperate affection, it was all gone. What remained was authoritative and stiff. "You can introduce me, or you can stay here. I know where he is."

Nader's eyes actually seemed to roll into the back of his head.

"You know," he said, "I did not miss _this_ part of you. I feel like being in the Alliance only made this attitude worse."

"What can I say?" Claude's smile was thin and tired. "Fódlan brings out the worst in me."

"You and me both, kid." Nader sighed, and he flung his arms up into the air. "Well, who am I to say no? Come along, then, children. Let's go stir up some trouble."

* * *

Once, when Claude had been a child, Nader had hit Claude wrong and Claude had screamed. They'd been using real swords— as was traditional when a prince was learning combat— and he'd been cut on his left hand. But he had not dropped his sword.

Nader had been so proud of him just for that simple thing— just for keeping his sword up— that he'd wrapped Claude's head in a ragged scarf and draped a dusty cloak over him, and taken him into the Bay's market to buy him sweets disguised as a peasant boy.

They had never told his father or his mother about it, but it was one of Claude's fondest memories of the man.

He felt strange now. He relied on Edelgard to help him walk rather than his cane, much to Lysithea's annoyance.

"Do not," he whispered to her, so low he was sure Nader did not hear it, "mention it. Okay? I need to do this my way."

"Claude…"

They had not asked yet who his father was, but he thought they both might begin to suspect. He should have told them earlier, but he knew they would ask him a thousand questions— the being Almyran thing had been hard enough.

Plus, he kind of lived for the drama of it all.

"Who are the girls, anyway?" Nader asked.

"Oh." Claude noticed how both of them exchanged sour looks at the way Nader said that. "Um, this is Edelgard, and that's—"

"Lysithea," Nader snorted, "yeah, got that. You were shouting it loud enough. Who are they to you, though? You and Miss Edelgard seem awfully close there."

Claude sighed. Edelgard exhaled sharply. Perhaps it would never end. Perhaps Claude really would marry Edelgard, just so people would shut up about it.

"I'm his friend," Edelgard said politely. "Claude… got injured, not too long ago, so I'm just giving him a hand."

"Injured?" Nader whirled on them, and Claude shot Edelgard a sharp glance. That was _not_ what he'd wanted, but okay. He could work with this. "Where?"

"It's nothing," Claude said smoothly.

"Is this about what the little moon-haired girl said?" Nader demanded. Lysithea made a sharp, strangled sound. Her scarf had fallen back enough that her white hair was visible. Edelgard had already forsaken hers, and now she wore it around her neck. "Your Crest? Is that it?"

"What?" Claude laughed nervously. "Nader—"

"And what is with your hair?" Nader frowned, reaching for Claude's scarf. Claude whacked his hand away, much to the man's astonishment.

"Nader!" Claude hissed. "No. Okay? I can't explain it twice. I will tell you when I tell Baba and Mama."

" _Oh_ ," Nader snorted, "it's Baba and Mama now, is it? This must be serious."

"I still call them that," Claude said with a small frown. "You just don't hear it."

"Baba and Mama," Nader teased. "You're so cute."

"Nader…" Claude groaned.

"You haven't written them in a while," Nader pointed out. "I know it's tough, but Judith could have gotten the letter to me, and I could have—"

"You know Judith?" Edelgard asked curiously.

"Huh?" Nader glanced at her. "Oh. Of course I know Judith. You think I'd allow this little fox to go off on his own? In a foreign country? With only _Judith_ as his confidant?"

"Judith is fine," Claude sighed. "You know you like her. She certainly likes you."

"Pah!" Nader wrinkled his nose, and Claude couldn't help but laugh. Nader, who had long been with a man from his training days, had often whined about Judith's casual flirtations. "She is a talented fighter, but she is as irritating as a squawking bird."

"You were in Fódlan," Edelgard said quietly. "You— were you a retainer of Claude's?"

"Were?" Nader tilted his head. "I intend to go back. I am only here for a short while, since Claude is away at school making friends like a good little prince."

"Nader," Claude hissed, actually smacking his head with the heel of his palm. It was too late of course. Edelgard had stopped moving. Lysithea had whirled to face him. Not even the familiar arches and the worn stone floor and the faint smell of jasmine wafting in from _somewhere_ not too far off could save him.

"Wait," Nader said, his eyes widening with delight, "you brought these kids here, and you didn't tell them?"

"I thought I might do that after I spoke to Baba," Claude muttered.

"Ha!" Nader clapped Claude on the head and ruffled what bit of his hair could be ruffled. "Leave it to you, kiddo! Can't say I'm surprised."

"Prince?" Lysithea hissed, tugging on Claude's sleeve. Hard. "Claude? Explain."

"I suppose it makes sense," Edelgard murmured.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Nader laughed. "What did you think would happen?"

"I don't know. I kind of made my decision to come back without…"

"Without thinking?" Nader offered, his eyebrows raising. "Not like you, kid. Not like you at all. Anyway, if you girls want the run down, Claude's the prince of Almyra. Next heir to the throne, the whole thing."

"I feel like…" Edelgard rubbing her temple, gripping him with her other hand so he stayed steady. "Honestly? It all makes sense."

"I am very glad it makes sense to _you_ ," Lysithea huffed, "because I don't understand a thing! Claude, why didn't you say something?"

He sighed, and he went to speak, but once again he found himself too lost to truly reply to her. Of course she was angry, but not as angry as he'd expected.

"All the things you told your grandfather," Edelgard said softly, holding onto his bicep and peering at him closely. "It makes sense. You make sense."

Now she had it. The final piece of him. It made him want to tear himself apart again and bury himself in different parts of the globe so that she'd never find him.

"Do I?" he asked her, turning to look into her eyes.

She did not look away. Instead she met his gaze determinedly, and she nodded.

"Okay," Nader sighed, "enough of that. Yes, little lady, Claude's a prince. He likely didn't tell you because as smart as he is, he's never been good at trusting with his whole heart. At least not since he was—"

"Please," Claude sighed, "don't. We don't need to bring up my childhood right now."

"If you say so," Nader said loftily, "Claude Soft-heart. Shall we go?"

Nader turned and led them further into the palace. As they walked, Claude slowed a bit, glancing worriedly at Lysithea. She seemed a bit dazed, perhaps realizing now that they were in his home. Her anger had subsided, perhaps because she was thinking it through and saw that it _did_ make sense.

As they were walking, he was hit from behind with a strange amount of force. He stumbled, and Edelgard grabbed him, her hands grasping both his shoulders as she steadied him.

"Claude!" A small, delighted voice chirped. It was a voice like a little bird's, and he found himself laughing a bit in disbelief as he peered down at the tiny girl who had latched herself to his knees.

She was taller than she'd been the last time he'd seen her. Her face was darker than his, smooth and chubby, with a mole above her left eyebrow. She wore pink slippers and a red şalvar, its baggy fabric shivering around her little legs. The tunic she wore over the şalvar was red too, but it was embroidered with gold flowers around the trim. Her sash was pink, and a small horde of gold medallions were sown along its end-seam. She jingled as she pulled back and beamed up at him.

"Lale," Claude sighed, pressing his palm to her brown curls. She had two braids hanging against her cheeks, but the rest of it was loose and wild. "I didn't know you'd be here."

He was surprised she'd recognized him. The last time he'd seen her had been three years ago, since she'd been away when he'd come home the last time. She had been… six, maybe. Her hair had been much shorter, because it had gotten so matted from her carefree little way of living and her mother had taken a pair of scissors to it in frustration.

"I didn't know _you'd_ be here!" Lale gasped, tugging at his kaftan and then at his sash. "Claude, this is so exciting! Will you go to the gardens with me? We can play at kings, and I can save you from the Western Dragon, and we can sing and dance—"

"Now, now, little lady," Nader called. His Almyran was much sterner than when he spoke in the tongue of Fódlan. It made Lale freeze up, and her big brown eyes flashed up at Claude's face worriedly. "Claude's got business he came here to attend to. You've got your own swords and daggers to play with. Didn't Lord Amir give you a doll? Why don't you save her from the Western Dragon?"

"Because she's a _doll_ ," Lale said, rolling her eyes. "She can't talk! And I haven't gotten to play with Claude in forever!"

"He is busy, little lady," Nader said.

"You say he is," Lale said indignantly, "but he has not told _me_ so. Claude, come play with me!"

"Claude," Edelgard said, the sudden insertion of Fódlan's harsh, garbled words jolting him back to reality. He was not fifteen anymore, and his little cousin was not six, and they could not play pretend in the garden. "Won't you introduce us to your friend?"

"Ah." He smiled sheepishly at her. She was peering over his shoulder at Lale, and Lysithea was staring at the little girl with narrowed eyes. Claude could see the wheels turning in her head, and perhaps she was realizing that sometimes he had treated her like a little girl because of this child who clung to him with everything in her. "Edelgard, Lysithea, this is my cousin, Lale. My father's sister's daughter."

"Hello, Lale," Edelgard said politely. She offered out her hand rather boldly, and Lale made a sour face, like she'd just bitten into a chicken bone.

"What's this woman saying?" she asked snappily. "Claude, who are these people?"

"They're friends of mine," Claude told her delicately. "This is— ah… Edelgard. Can you say that?"

"Ad—Del—" Lale wrinkled her nose, and she scoffed. "What kind of name is that, anyway?"

"Um…"

"I will call her Del," Lale declared, lifting her head and squinting up at Edelgard suspiciously. "She can play with us if she talks right."

"Lale!" Claude gasped, glancing worriedly at Edelgard, who of course had no idea what Lale had said. She seemed as charmed by the little girl as possible. Lysithea was clearly more skeptical, perhaps because her own temperament was so similar to a nine-year-old's.

Nader barked a heavy, booming laugh. Lale scowled up at him.

"You can't scold her," Nader laughed, "because you were just as rude as a child!"

"I was not," Claude said quietly. "I had to learn different languages when I was younger than her."

"Yes," Nader said, grinning broadly, "but when Judith came to visit when you were about her age, you told the woman that she spoke like a dunce."

"And I had to go out into the river," Claude gasped, " _by myself_ , might I add, and shoot a hundred fish and gift them to Judith before I was allowed to eat that night! I wasn't even allowed to eat the fish I'd caught!"

"You know," Nader said thoughtfully, scratching his beard, "that's true. Lale, you best watch your smart mouth, or you might be marching down to the river and shooting fish for the next twelve hours."

"I can't use a bow," Lale said indignantly. "I use _swords_."

"You can't use a _bow_?" Nader howled. "Who is teaching you? What is the matter with them?"

"I'm not going to listen to you anymore," Lale said, turning to face Claude fully. "Claude, order Nader to leave us alone. The girls can stay if they agree to be saved by us. I can dress them up in my best silks, and they can be the princesses, and we can be kings, and—"

"Lale," Claude sighed, kneeling very slowly so he was on her level. "I cannot play with you. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Claude said, taking her hands and smiling at her, "I will try my best to play with you when I can. But right now, I need to speak to my father."

"You can't speak to him right now," Lale said, tearing her hands away from him and scowling. "They're doing their council meeting. All courts-people are here. Mama is there. You can't just walk in."

"I'm the prince," Claude said tiredly. "I can if I want to."

"Ho _ho_!" Nader laughed. "Never thought I'd hear you pull that card out. You hardly used it even when you were Lale's age."

"I…" Claude sighed, and he shook his head. "Honestly, Nader, could you be a bit more helpful?"

"Fine." Nader took a deep breath, and his entire face changed. "Lale! I'm going to chop you up and feed you to the dogs!"

"No you're not!" Lale shouted back, her voice shriller and somehow _louder_ than Nader's. "I'll chop _you_ up, you stupid old man!"

"Huh." Nader glanced at Claude, and he shrugged. "That always used to work on you."

"Oh," Claude said, switching languages just to tilt his head back and shoot an ironic prayer to the ether, "goddess, save me, I am going to die here."

"You are so dramatic," Lysithea sighed. "What is going on?"

"Lale won't leave unless I go play with her," Claude said, looking up at Lysithea desperately from his crouch. "There are no other children here, except maybe the orphans, but they're usually in school, and it's… a very big and lonely place, you know. For a child."

"What are you _saying_?" Lale gasped, reaching out and tugging on Claude's braid. "And what is this? Why did you braid sheep's wool into your hair?"

"Ow!" Claude winced. "Ow, ow, ow— Lale! Let go!"

"Oh." Lale dropped the braid, her eyes wide as could be. "What? Is that really your hair?"

"Enough," he said, switching languages once more as he stood up. "I can't explain this to Lale. I don't know _how_ to explain this to her."

"Okay," Lysithea said. She moved her hands in two semicircles until they met at her chest. She folded them, and then dragged both her index fingers through the air so fast that Claude did not know what she was drawing. The light that appeared startled each of them, and Lale shouted softly— only for that shout to be cut off. Claude looked down at the child and saw that she was frozen where she stood, her mouth wide open and her eyes squeezed closed. "There. We have three minutes."

"Whoa." Claude waved his hand over Lale's face in awe. "I've never seen this spell before."

"I feel it is underhanded," Lysithea said with a shrug. "If I am to kill an enemy, I'd rather they have a chance to fight back. Anyway, it's very time sensitive. Shall we go?"

Edelgard hooked her arm around Claude's, and he blinked rapidly as he was pulled forward. He shot a glance back at Lale, and he realized how much of her life he had already missed, and how much he would miss. He would never see her grow up or get married. He would never see her become the great warrior she wished to be.

He realized, with sudden dread, that she would be queen. Once he died, she would become his father's heir.

That terrified him. No child needs a crown to strip their childhood from them.

"She's gotten big," he said to Nader in Almyran. Nader, who led them through a narrow passage, sighed a bit.

"She's gotten spoiled too," he said. "I guess that's my fault. In my absence, they must have found her a mediocre teacher. No respect from that one."

"Would you rather stay here?" Claude asked eagerly. "Train her? She could be better than me. Stronger than me."

"You're my priority, kiddo," Nader said with a lopsided smile. "Not the little lady. I do worry, though. You fostered her imagination when she was small, but once you left, she had no one. I fear she'll grow hard and cruel if she's left unattended the way your aunt tends to."

"She's smart," Claude objected fiercely. "She's a good girl. All children are a little spoiled. Let her be. She's still a child, after all."

"If you say so."

They came upon a heavy, black wooden door, and Nader sighed before turning to them. Claude knew why. He was rarely allowed in this room, and it felt especially taboo now. The door was so thick they did not hear sounds of chattering from inside.

"I will be honest," Nader said reluctantly, switching from Almyran. "Your father will not be pleased."

"I don't need him to be pleased," Claude said. "I just need him to be here."

Nader's eyes flashed to him, and Claude wondered if he finally realized how serious this was. Edelgard gripped his arm, and she looked up at him with a frown.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" she whispered. "We can wait. We've traveled this far already—"

"No." Claude shook his head. "If I don't speak to him now, I'll lose the courage to later. Come on, Nader. Let's get this over with."

Nader's brow furrowed, but he nodded all the same. He took a deep breath, and he opened the door.

Claude saw the rows of faces, and he did not recognize all of them all at once. Instead, he looked past them until he saw the broad, tired face of his father, standing at the head of a long table and staring at them blankly.

"What is this?" he barked in Almyran. "Nader, this better be urgent. Have you brought strangers into my council room?"

"They're from the west!" a bold woman that Claude recognized as Erol, a noblewoman from the mountains who often got into skirmishes with Holst. "Look at that girl, there! Goodness, she's a Fódlan brat if I have ever seen one."

Edelgard stiffened as she was pointed to, and all eyes turned to her. She wouldn't have any idea what Erol was saying about her, but she lifted her head high and met their harsh gazes regardless.

"My apologies for the intrusion," Nader said, bowing quickly. "Arash? Your son is here to speak with you."

The entire room seem electrified by Nader's clear lack of respect when addressing the king. Claude's father, who had stayed very still until this moment, jerked back in alarm. Then he squinted past Nader, past Edelgard, and found Claude's wan and sunken face beneath the loose yellow scarf.

"Claude?" Arash said softly. He blinked, and he shook his head. "The prince can wait, Nader. We are having a very important meeting—"

"This cannot wait," Claude said, stepping forward as boldly as if he had walked all the way here on his own. He shook off Edelgard, and she let him go without a word. She was good at reading him, he realized. Better than most, maybe as good as Hilda or Judith. She let him move forward unaided, because that was what he needed right now. "Father—"

"Did you not hear me, child?" Arash's eyes were suddenly very hard and very cold, and Claude could not say he had not expected this. "I do not know what could be the matter that you have come without warning, but if you wish to stay, you will sit down and keep your mouth shut. I am busy—"

"I know that," Claude sighed. He rubbed his head, feeling a migraine beginning to erupt behind his scarf. "I would not interrupt if it were not important."

"Claude."

He nearly buckled and fell to the floor. That voice always made him feel a bit weak, like he could do a little bit better. When he raised his head, his mother's worn, impish face rose up among all the others. She was at her father's right hand, as always, and the scar that cleft her right eyebrow and cheekbone seemed whiter than usual. Her eyes were just the same shade of green as his, as Godfrey's, as Caius's, and they had always seemed to glow like precious gems stuck inside a furnace. Her hair, which was more auburn than brown, was braided in a plain crown across her head, not unlike Edelgard's. She wore blue, as she always did, though Claude now understood why she had always dressed him in golds and yellows as a child.

 _This is too hard_ , he thought, a lump rising to his throat as he stared at his mother. _This is too damn hard. Why did I come here?_

He should have just stayed in Ordelia until he wasted away.

"Whatever this is," his mother said calmly, not bothering to use Almyran, much to the clear irritation of some of the others at the table, "it can wait."

"You coddle the boy, Gertrude," Erol said in Almyran with a huff. She was perhaps one of the few at the table who had understood Claude. He knew a few others might pick up some words, but the farther from the border one got, the less it seemed to matter if they could speak more than just Almyran.

"Do I?" Gertrude snapped back at Erol, her eyes narrowed. "Is that your business, I wonder?"

"Tru," his father murmured in Almyran, setting a hand on Gertrude's shoulder. "This is not the place."

"Can't you listen to me?" Claude asked, feeling a bit desperate. He spoke in Almyran, and he gazed at them dazedly. "I know how important this is, but I— I _need_ to tell you now, before I—"

He lost the words in Almyran, and the sudden terror that swept over him was all-encompassing. He would lose everything that was his. Both languages, both cultures, both titles, both families. All he was meant to do was lose.

The thought nearly broke him.

He buckled a bit, and Edelgard was at his side in an instant. Lysithea was not far behind, and they each took one of his arms.

"Are you okay?" Lysithea asked him urgently.

"Claude," Edelgard whispered, "maybe we should wait. We can always explain later. We have the time—"

"Who has the time?" Claude demanded, looking at her sharply. "You? Me? Lysithea? Who has the time to wait?"

"It's a meeting," Edelgard hissed, her fingers tightening around his bicep. "I can wait a day."

"Whoever this girl is," Gertrude said, "perhaps you should listen to her."

"Mother," he said, taking a deep breath, "There are stars in the sky that have more time to burn than I do. I will listen to her when you listen to me."

Gertrude stared at him with her fire-forged green eyes, and she laughed at him.

"I see travel has done nothing to hold your silver tongue," she said. Her eyes twinkled with something akin to pride.

"Tongue of silver or tongue of iron," Arash said, waving at Claude rather dismissively, "I have told you to _wait_. Have you no shame, boy? I cannot give you my time right now, and I will not bend to the whims of a child—"

"I am not a child," Claude hissed.

"Yet you act like one!" Arash's eyes were blazing with the flames of her anger. "What did you think would happen if you came in here? I do not care how far you traveled, or how little time you think you have, you _will_ wait—"

"I'm dying," Claude cut in, extricating himself from Edelgard and Lysithea and stepping forward. His hands fell shakily against the table, and he stared his father down as the man's words got caught inside his throat.

It was nice not to be the one speechless for once.

As he had not said it in Almyran, only a few people in the room seemed to react. Erol made a strange face, not quite believing him, Gertrude's mouth fell open and then closed very quickly. Arash stared at Claude with an inscrutable expression, and Nader—

"What?" Nader blurted, stumbling forward and catching Claude by the bicep. He was whirled around, yanked like a ragdoll, and he stared up at the man tiredly. "What did you say?"

He had said it so clearly. He had not stammered at all. Had he ever managed to say it so succinctly before?

"This is why I cannot wait," Claude hissed, tearing his arm from Nader's grasp. "I did not travel all the way here to be brushed aside. Not for anything."

"Out," Arash said in Almyran.

Claude stiffened. Of course he had known his outburst would have consequences. They always did. Yet he had hoped— beyond all hope— that his father would see how desperate he was. It was impossible, it seemed, to please a man who only saw a boy wrapped in fox furs.

He gathered up all his courage, nodded once, and swept into the deepest bow he could manage.

"As you wish," he said bitterly, "Your Majesty."

The moment he turned, a startling crash had him stumbling. Lysithea, strangely, was the one who caught him and steadied him. When he turned, he realized his father had slammed his fist against the table.

"Not you," Arash snapped. "The rest of you. All of you! Go."

Claude's eyes flashed wide. He found himself pulling Lysithea closer to him as the council erupted in confusion and defiance. Lysithea gaped, and she turned her face up to him, her veil sliding back from her white hair.

"What's going on?" she gasped. "What happened?"

"I think I made him angry," Claude gasped, pulling her closer and reaching for Edelgard. She snatched his hand with both of hers, and her purple eyes searched his face inquisitively.

"Enough!" Arash cried. "That is enough! All of you, _go_. I will not say it a third time. We will reconvene tomorrow."

"Perhaps," he heard Erol whisper, "it is the boy's Fódlan blood that's made him weak."

Erol was met with a glare from Gertrude, and Arash turned his head to fix Erol with a piercing stare. There was a strange calmness about the way he pulled a knife from his belt and turned to Gertrude, plucking a lock of hair that had settled near her ear and cutting it so swiftly that Claude had nearly missed the motion.

"Erol," Arash said, "before you go, I would like to give you a gift. Open your mouth."

Claude winced. He knew what his father would do, and he saw the same recognition pass through his mother's eyes. She snatched the knife and punctured her thumb on the point of it before smearing the open wound on her lock of hair.

It would be degrading and disgusting, but Claude could not look away.

"What," Edelgard gasped, "are they doing?"

"Teaching her a lesson," Claude murmured. "It's been a while since I was here. They've forgotten they should not mention my connection to Fódlan."

"They _know_?" Lysithea gasped. "All that secrecy, and they all know?"

"It's not a secret here. Not really." He bit his lip, and he watched Erol put on a brave face before swallowing the bloody lock of hair whole.

"Perhaps," Arash said, "you will consider that Fódlan blood a blessing, as it is the only thing keeping you from tasting your own blood. You are all dismissed."

They trailed out of the room hesitantly. His aunt, a tall and elegant woman, with no scars to speak of on her pretty face, traveled behind his father. She had an easy smile that did not reach her eyes, and her hair was adorned with a gold ornament that probably could have bought a hefty estate in the Alliance.

"Arash," she said, her voice as birdlike as her daughter's, "you should have taken her tongue."

"I said to go," Arash said coolly, "that meant everyone, Minu."

"Of course!" His aunt's smile cut him deep. Perhaps she already saw poor little Lale on the throne. It did not make sense to him, as he'd always thought his aunt had liked him, but he could not be surprised by the politics of court anymore. "I'll want to speak with you later."

"Fine. Go."

"Come along, Nader," Minu said, brushing past them. "Bring those little girls with you. We shall have tea in my chambers."

"Ah…" Nader met Claude's eye, and he looked a little desperate. "Will you…?"

"Go," Claude whispered. He smiled at Nader gently, knowing how badly it suited his face at the moment, and he turned away from the three of them. "Go. It's fine. I'll be fine."

When they left, and when it was just him and his mother and his father, he felt suddenly at a loss.

Was this not what he'd wanted?

To be home? To see his mother and father again?

Yet the way they looked at him, he wondered once more if he should have just stayed in Ordelia.

Better yet, if he should have stayed in Adestria, dead in a ditch.

"What," Arash said slowly, "do you _mean_ that you are dying?"

"Just that." Claude stepped up to the table so he could lean against it. "I'm dying. I came home to die."

Gertrude folded her hands into her sleeves and began to pace the room.

"How?" Arash demanded.

That was hard. Claude could not quite remember how, but the pain remained crystalized in his mind.

"I was tortured," he said quietly. "I— there was— I do not know—"

"Claude," his father cut in sharply. "Slow down. You say you were tortured? How? By who?"

Three small droplets of water hit the table. He realized he was crying, and the tears were of shame. He remembered that the one thing he had wanted was not to cry in front of them.

Funny how that did not seem to work out at all.

"Claude?" Arash was suddenly at his side, and Claude bit his tongue to swallow a sob. "Claude, look at me. _Speak_ to me! You cannot just barge in here with news like this and then not talk to me."

"I—" He fumbled over his words, and the tears kept coming. If he had been smarter— if he'd acted faster, if he had done _something_ would any of this be happening? "I— I don't know. I can't— I need—" He looked around instinctively for Edelgard, who always seemed to know what he wanted to say, but she was gone. He was alone.

"What?" Arash asked, sounding more desperate than Claude had ever heard him. And Claude had heard him desperate. "What can I _do_? I don't understand, Claude."

"You can't do anything," Claude murmured.

"What?"

Claude raised his head, and he smiled up at his father dazedly. Arash was nothing but a strange, shivering blur among Claude's tears.

"There is nothing to be done," Claude said, his voice breaking apart pitifully. "Nothing. I'm— even if, somehow, someone finds a cure, I think I might be finished. I can't—" He sucked in a deep breath. "I can't _speak_ , I can't— I can't walk right. My brain leaves me, and time escapes me. I don't know myself anymore. I don't— I'm not— I'm not _me_ anymore, I'm just—"

He broke apart in an instant as his father took him by the shoulders and pulled him close. He gathered him up in his arms, and Claude buried his face in his shoulder.

"You are not you?" his father demanded. He shook him gently. "You? Claude Soft-heart? My little fox? Who else could you be?"

Claude pressed his mouth to his father's shoulder and he muffled a scream and a sob and a laugh just as easily as he might smile.

* * *

Minu, as she called herself, was a very beautiful and very tall woman who made Edelgard curious. She spoke in a dull, sweet tone, and she glanced at Edelgard with the eyes of a bird of prey eyeing a meal. Her words had a soft sort of accent layering them, but Edelgard did not mind. She was enthralled.

"So you have come from Fódlan," Minu said, pouring the tea into four gilded cups. She had a delicate touch, and something about her reminded Edelgard rather of Dorothea. In a very dangerous way. "I do not imagine that was an easy journey."

"No," Edelgard said levelly, "it was not."

Lysithea sat frowning. It was clear that she was suspicious of the woman, and the fact that Nader was quiet did not help.

"What is it like there?" Minu's smile was as bright and smooth as a rose petal. Yet when Edelgard searched her face, she saw her eyes narrow. It was odd. Perhaps Claude took after this woman the most out of his family. "I've heard all sorts of stories from Gertrude, but you saw the woman. She's rather dull, and all she wants to talk about are the game and the battles and the warriors. History too, but that's also so boring sometimes. Perhaps you could be a dear and tell me more?"

"Like what?" Edelgard asked, taking the teacup in her hands and keeping her eyes raised and her shoulders squared. She acted as she might as if, in a dream, Byleth had asked her to tea. "I cannot speak for where Claude is from, but—"

"Claude is from here, my dear," Minu cut in coolly. "He is from the ground on which you stand. Make no mistake, I am curious about your homeland, but Claude is not yours. He is ours."

She sat for a moment on a velvet cushion, her teacup against her mouth, and she stared up at the woman as she took a sip from her own cup daintily. Nader, who was to her left, choked a bit on his tea. On her other side, Lysithea sat and glared up at the woman.

"He isn't," Lysithea said.

Minu quirked an eyebrow. Her head tipped to one side, her glossy brown hair slipping from her shoulder, and she smiled at Lysithea as her eyes flashed viciously to her.

"I am sorry," Minu said, "have I misheard you, child?"

"I am not a child," Lysithea snapped, "and Claude is not _yours_. He isn't anyone's. He belongs to himself. This may be his home, and you may be his people, but you forget that Fódlan is his also his home, and we are his people too!"

Edelgard had felt like she needed to object to that, because while Lysithea was right, Edelgard had no part in the Alliance.

And then she realized that in Minu's eyes, there were no borders in Fódlan. There was no difference between the Empire or the Alliance, not any more than there was a difference in the color of Edelgard and Lysithea's hair.

"Now, now," Nader chuckled nervously, "don't upset yourself, there, little one."

"I'm not upset," Lysithea said, "I am angry. I realize you are his family, ma'am, but Claude's not here to speak for himself, so I would appreciate it if you did not speak for him."

Edelgard's eyes widened, if only because she knew that Lysithea had only called Minu _ma'am_ to piss the woman off. It worked. Instantly. The golden cup clinked against its golden saucer, and she looked at Lysithea like she might tear her throat out with her teeth.

Suddenly, the little girl from earlier, Lale, came rushing in like a tiny little storm. She staggered to a stop when she saw Lysithea, and she _screamed_.

"Lale!" Minu snapped. She said something viciously in Almyran, and Lale quieted and paled. She continued to stare at Lysithea, and she spoke quickly.

"What is she saying?" Edelgard murmured to Nader.

"Ah," Nader said, "she wants to know how that spell was put on her. The time one."

"Does she?" Lysithea swept up from her cushion and left her tea where it sat. "Lovely. I'll show you. Come along, Lale."

Lale, who did not know what Lysithea was saying, gave her a strange look. Then, after presumably Nader translated for Lysithea, the tiny girl beamed.

"I did not say you could go anywhere with my daughter," Minu said briskly.

"We'll only be on the terrace," Lysithea said, already allowing the child to play with the scalloped edge of her sleeve. "Would you rather she and I sit here and drink tea with you?"

Minu's expression shuttered a bit, and she sighed before waving Lysithea off. She caught Lale by the arm and spoke to her sternly in Almyran before letting her go. The little girl skipped off happily with Lysithea, babbling as she grasped Lysithea's hand in her own.

Once the two of them were gone, Edelgard sighed heavily and laid her hands out on the table.

"Listen," she said, "I want no trouble. I have no quarrel with the Almyran people—"

"History says different," Minu said.

"My country," Edelgard said steadily, "Adestria, it has never been raided by Almyrans. We've never been at war with you at least not in recent memory. We will have our trouble with Almyran pirates here and there, but you like them just as little as we do."

"True enough." Minu sipped her tea thoughtfully. Her eyes raked over Edelgard once. "You are nobility, then?"

When she stiffened, Minu laughed.

"Oh," she said, "young lady, it is obvious. Did that old man, the grand and noble Caius von Riegan, did he set the two of you up? If Gertrude has anything in common with the man, it is her need to secure the boy a place, and I _know_ how both of them scrambled to find a suitable match for him in their respective lands."

"Why must everything always be about _marriage_?" Edelgard muttered. "No, Claude was never set up with me. I am the princess of his neighboring country, it would never work."

"Tell that to his parents," Minu said cheekily.

It occurred to her very suddenly that Minu was right, and that Claude had made that lie up to tell Holst effortlessly _because_ of his parents. Her face felt warm as she sipped her tea, and Nader peered at her curiously.

"The girl goes red like a pomegranate," he laughed, clapping her on the back. "Don't you see, Minu? No little lady in an arranged betrothal would travel so far for a man who claims to be dying. She's clearly in love."

"No!" Edelgard spoke a bit too quickly and a bit too harshly, and Minu's eyes glittered when they gazed upon her. "That's not true. He— he is my friend, and I owed him a debt, so I—"

"If you are so close," Minu said, leaning forward, "you must know what's wrong with him. I saw his hair. His face looks like a skeleton's. I believe he _is_ dying, if he thought he could walk into a council meeting like that."

"Well," Edelgard said hesitantly, "I… do know what happened, but it isn't really something for me to tell."

"But you can tell us how serious it is," Minu said eagerly.

"I can tell you that it will kill him," she said calmly, staring into her teacup with the sort of detachment of a woman whose soul had left her. "It may be soon. It may take a year. It may not happen for a decade. But this will kill him."

Minu blinked twice. She set her cup down and leaned back. Her eyes flickered toward her braids. She glanced over her shoulder and peered at Lysithea, who was showing Lale the movements necessary to cast a spell.

"I see," Minu said.

"What?"

"I see," she repeated. "It is not love that binds you three, though I suppose love may have come as a result of this. The thing that is killing Claude… it afflicts both of you too, does it not?"

Edelgard stared at the woman, and she did not answer. Instead, she picked up her teacup and kept drinking.

"The spell," Nader murmured.

"What was that, Nader?" Minu asked.

"At the gate," Nader said, glancing at Edelgard, who froze, "Claude sent an arrow flying at me— I see now he is in no condition to be shooting any sort of arrow, but he shot an arrow unlike any I've ever seen. It was some sort of spell. The girls seemed to recognize what had happened, and— well, it had him passing out."

"Magic, then," Minu hummed. She focused on Edelgard. "What Fódlan magic has done this? Can we fix it?"

"I want to," Edelgard said quietly. "I— I will try my best to. I know now why Claude brought us here, but I also know the answer to everything is in Fódlan. I need to go back there if I'm going to save anyone."

"Well," Minu said, her smile tight, "do your best, child. I do not have faith in very many people, but that silly little boy would make a wonderful king if given the chance. I will not let some silly magical illness ruin that."

"The research… it might take years." Edelgard bit her lip. "I want to save Claude, and I— I told him I believe he will live longer than he expects, but if I'm wrong—"

"What do you need?" Minu demanded.

"What?"

"Goodness, child, you are dense," Minu pulled the pretty diadem from her head and slid it over the table. "Take that back to Fódlan. Sell it, hire your little research team. Get the best of the best. Take that monstrous child with you, she clearly knows some magic."

"Lysithea?" Edelgard glanced over Minu's shoulder and watched Lysithea laugh at something Lale had done. Perhaps she had given up on magic and settled on teaching a language instead. "She's a magical prodigy, actually, but—"

"Then I see no problem." Minu smiled at her brightly. "You will return to Fódlan, and you will find a way to save my nephew."

"You…" Edelgard stared down at the diadem dazedly. "You are very kind."

"Yes, well…" Minu sniffed, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "Do not go telling people that. Besides, if Claude dies, Lale will lose her mind, and I hardly want to deal with that."

Edelgard couldn't help but smile. She understood.

A knock at the door startled her, and she turned around to face it. Minu hummed, and she jerked her chin at Nader, who scowled at her and said something in Almyran. She waved him off before getting to her feet and striding to the door.

The woman who walked in was, Edelgard knew now, Claude's mother. She was beautiful, if not a bit like a statue. Something about her reminded Edelgard of her own mother. Cold, calculating, and perhaps a little feral.

"Minu," Gertrude said, brushing past her and marching into the room. "Nader. Hresvelg."

"Claude told you who I am?" Edelgard asked curiously.

"Somewhat." Gertrude did not really look at her. Instead she stared at Minu. "You know, I realize we have had our differences—"

"Gertrude," Minu said, smiling, "you do not need to say anything." Then she spoke in Almyran, and Edelgard sighed into her tea. This language barrier was difficult.

In response, Gertrude took a very deep breath, and she drew her hands over her face.

"Oh," she mumbled, "goddess, forgive me, I'm— I don't know _what_ I'm going to do. I don't even know who to kill!"

"Ooh," Minu said cheerfully, "this girl might know! Girl—"

"Edelgard."

"—who should Gertrude kill?"

Edelgard looked up at Claude's mother, who was now looking down at her hopefully. What was she supposed to say to that? She could not tell the _truth_ , after all.

"I'm not sure exactly who they are," she said cautiously. "I… can find out, though."

"Good." Gertrude swiped at her cheeks, and she looked just as cold and statuesque as before. "When will you leave for Fódlan?"

"Oh." Edelgard blinked. "I am not sure yet. Claude told you that I'm leaving?"

"You are the Imperial Princess, are you not?" Gertrude scoffed. "Come now, girl, I know how Fódlan works. Would you stay here a week?"

"I'm not… exactly sure if…"

"You will be given a ship," Gertrude said firmly. "We will be back in Fódlan in no time."

"A ship?" The thought of water made her want to throw up. "I am not quite sure if— wait, did you say _we_?"

"Obviously." Gertrude blinked at her. "How else will I kill the people who tortured my son?"

"Tortured?" Minu echoed. She turned to Nader and said something quickly. He was too busy gaping at Gertrude to answer.

"Well…" Edelgard knew, of course, what had happened to Claude. She did not know if she would ever be able to tell Gertrude, though. "I could bring them to justice—"

"Justice," Gertrude said coolly, "is gathering their heads one by one and presenting them to Claude before whatever they did to him kills him."

"You cannot argue with that," Minu said, sounding a bit dazed. "Tortured, you said? Gertrude, what—?"

"Claude will stay here," Gertrude said stiffly. "If you could, Minu… I know we have had our past, but—"

"I will stay," Minu said instantly. "Lale will be happy. I will explain… as best I can that he might not be able to play as he used to, but…"

"Lale will be queen," Gertrude said grimly.

"Not if there is a cure," Minu argued. "The Fódlan girl said there might be."

"You?" Gertrude's eyes flashed to Edelgard sharply. "You think so?"

"I can't be sure," she admitted. "But I want to believe so. Yes."

"Fine." Gertrude clapped Edelgard on the shoulder. "I will follow you, then. Save my son and let me kill those who have hurt him, and I will fight whatever battle you wish me to."

 _Did Claude tell her about my war as well_ , she thought dazedly.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Don't you want to stay with Claude?"

"I'm useless to him. I would rather save him and avenge him than sit by idly as he rots away."

 _Rots away,_ Edelgard thought numbly. _He's still alive. He's still right here. He came all the way here to see you, and you… run from that?_

It occurred to Edelgard that perhaps running away was a Riegan family trait.

"He might need you," Edelgard objected.

"He won't."

"You don't know that!" she gasped, shoving Gertrude's hand off her. "Don't you realize what Claude has done to get here? To get to _you_? He's thrown away any chance he had at leading the Alliance. He ran away from home. I thought I understood why, when I realized he was Almyran, but now I'm even more confused than before."

Gertrude had an intense gaze, like she could tear out Edelgard's spine with a mere glance, and she tipped her head to one side so her braid slid from her shoulder.

"You think," Gertrude said, a strange and feral smile rising to her lips, "that _I_ do not understand the consequences of running away from the Leceister Alliance? Child, I _invented_ that play. My son knew the risks when he decided to go play good little heir to my father, and I am glad that he returned home when it became too much. If he is to die, let it be here. It is where he was born. It is a part of him as much as he is a part of it."

"Are you not a part of him too?" Edelgard demanded. "If he is to die, should his mother not be at his side?"

Gertrude thought on that for a moment, her scarred brow knitting together.

"No," she said, "I don't think so. He has Arash. He does not need me."

"You're his mother," Edelgard said desperately, her heart struggling with the strange sensation of being struck by a piece of itself that she had thought lost in Faerghus years and years ago. "Don't you care at all how he feels? What he needs?"

Minu crossed the room and situated herself between Edelgard and Gertrude, her smile tense and her eyes flashing nervously.

"Now," she said, "let me make this clear. Gertrude is a foreigner by birth, but she has spent nearly two decades as our queen, and she knows quite a bit more than you about things, child. She knows more about this country, and she knows quite a bit more about being a mother. If I were in her place, and someone had hurt Lale— well, I would not think before leaving to ensure that justice has been served."

Gertrude glanced at Minu with momentary surprise before turning her attention back to Edelgard. She nodded in agreement.

"I have made up my mind," Gertrude said firmly. "I will take up my place as my father's heir while I search for those who did this, and once I find them, I will not rest until they have paid for their actions. You can support me, and gain an ally, or you can deny me, and make an enemy. It is your choice, child."

It was then that Edelgard realized she had no chance in arguing her way out of this. Gertrude was coming to Fódlan, whether she liked it or not. The only option she really had was to remain quiet, despite how desperate she was to give Claude a chance to keep his mother with him until the end.

But sacrificing a powerful ally like this? Even for Claude's sake?

It was something she could not do.

"Fine," she said, turning from the woman abruptly. "We will work together to destroy those who harmed Claude. And in return, if I should need you—"

"My bow is yours," Gertrude said breezily. "My sword as well."

It was a strange thought, that she might one day fight side by side with Claude's mother of all people.

She wished, more than anything, that she could have Claude instead.

"So be it," she said. Then she walked toward the door with her head high and her eyes stinging.

* * *

The gardens were dead. He walked through them dazedly, flower petals crunching underfoot, and he pushed aside crumbling gray stalks and the leafless skeletons of rose bushes. A thorn sunk into his palm, and he gasped as the gray garden was splashed a bright and luxurious red.

"Fódlan blood," a voice murmured in his ear.

He whirled around, and he saw the shining silver hair first. He was frightened. He thought she was a ghost.

"Edelgard?" he whispered.

"Fódlan blood," she repeated, her eyes trailing from his face to his hand. She smiled a secret smile, and he smiled back a little dazedly. She offered him her own hand, and he saw blood pooling up over her fingers. There was a Crest carved into her palm. "We are the same, are we not?"

"I guess we are." Claude stared at her hand hesitantly. "I… I don't know."

"You don't know?" Edelgard blinked at him. "How can you not know? They did it to me. They did it to you. That's all you need to know."

She snatched up his hand, and the moment their blood intermingled he felt a jolt shudder through him. When he looked back up at her, he saw a painted white face like a jester in court.

His eyes opened so suddenly that he heard them flick back. He blinked as his chest rose and fell heavily, and he dug his nose deeper into the fox pelt that covered him. He had no recollection of arriving in his father's study, but here he was anyway.

 _A dream_ , he thought. _Just a bad dream._

But he remembered the woman, and he remembered being strapped down to a table, and he remembered more than that too. He thought he might start laughing, he remembered so much, and it hurt.

He laid there a moment, his mind catching the dregs of his dream and stowing them in a bottle to grow rancid with the rest of his bad memories, and he felt suddenly sick. When he sat up, the world spun, and he half collapsed onto the floor.

"Claude!"

He blinked rapidly as he was dragged upright and propped against a plush red velvet pillow. As he struggled to blink back the stars from his eyes, he felt desperate to speak, but he couldn't. So he sat numbly, bile burning in the back of his throat, and he stared ahead of him dazedly as he felt a pair of strong, muscular arms wrap around him.

"It's okay, Claude," Edelgard murmured in his ear. He was surprised to hear her voice, and more surprised that he recognized it. He turned slowly to face her. When he met her eyes, he could see the worry there, and he felt guilty for that.

She shouldn't even be here. He was constantly in the way of her goals, and she must resent him for that.

"I'm—" For a moment, he thought he might vomit. He sat, waiting for the nausea to roll up and tip over him like a strong wave. When it did not, he took a deep breath. "I'm okay. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

There were too many reasons to count. He felt weak and hopeless. It was worse, he thought, that she was here.

She was a reminder of what he'd lost.

When he didn't answer, she sighed. Her arms were still around him tight, and he tried to remember if she had ever embraced him like this. If she'd ever comforted him like this. He felt her muscles beneath the thin cotton sleeves of her blouse, and he had never truly considered how strong she must be. She could carry him easily, if she wanted.

He turned his face away from her, feeling very warm as she continued to stare at him.

"Claude," she sighed, "I know… I understand. Everything makes sense now. Why you needed to come here. What all the secrecy was for. You never could have told Holst the truth without starting a war."

Thinking about Holst made him feel guilty. Edelgard would need to undo that mess when she got back. He had truly only thought about himself.

"It was a good plan," Edelgard continued. "You applied your parents' story to us. You assumed Holst was as much of a romantic as Hilda. It was a really good plan."

"You played the part well," he murmured.

"So did you."

He could not help but smile. It was no secret now that he was rather good at playing a part. He still did not know how much of what had happened at Goneril had been acting.

"You're smiling." Edelgard sounded relieved. "You know— you know you are very strange. I do not understand you."

"I don't understand you either," he said.

"No," Edelgard said, "I think you understand me too well. I think you know me, and you understand me, and if things were different, I think you could have ended me with a word."

"If things were different?"

"If we were different," she corrected herself.

"If we were different," Claude said, "I would not end you, Edelgard. Why would you think I would?"

"If we were at war," she said quickly, her arms still wrapped so firmly around him, like she was trying to protect him from her own betrayal. "If we fought, and if it came down to it, you could destroy me with a word."

"What word?"

She sat silently beside him. There was nothing she could say, because there was no word that would change her mind. She was being kind to him, but he felt this kindness was unwarranted, and he wanted her to be plain with him.

So he turned to face her, and he said, "I like you too much to lie to you, Edelgard. So don't lie to me, I beg you."

In her eyes, there were too many emotions for him to keep track of. She usually kept them close to her chest, a girl after his own heart, but he saw them now plainly. As plainly as she would not be with her words, her eyes stung him like cold rain.

She exhaled shakily as she unwound her arms from his shoulders. Her hands clenched together in her lap, and she lifted her head high.

"I have to go," she said.

"I know that." He offered her a tight smile. "Go, then."

"Claude…" Edelgard glanced at him, and for a moment he held his breath. "Your mother is coming with me."

Oh.

"Oh," he said, swallowing hard. He thought on it a moment. "Wait, what?"

"She's going to come back with me," she said, avoiding his gaze strategically. "She… wants to kill the people who did this."

"But—" He sunk into his seat, his brain suddenly muddy and strained. "But she loves it here. She loves my father more than anything."

"She loves you more, I think," Edelgard said gently.

_Then why would she leave me now?_

"Oh."

"I'll protect her," Edelgard said, her fingers catching his. "I promise. I am going to change the way this world works, and nothing like what happened to me and you and Lysithea will happen again."

"Good." Claude pulled his hand from hers and sat stiffly. "I'm glad. Thank you."

They sat quietly, shoulders brushing against each other, and he realized how hurt he was. He realized that he was realizing too much all at once, and he wanted to cry, but he was too tired.

"I should go," she murmured.

"When do you leave?"

"A week."

That was more time than he expected. He watched her rise to her feet. She looked out of place in his father's study, with her white braided crown and her stained trousers.

He thought about what Lysithea had said in the dark last night, that it would be better to tell her than to let the feelings linger, and to die without her ever knowing at all.

When he sat in an empty room a minute later, the regret ate at him. He wrapped himself in the fox furs and imagined her arms around him once more.

* * *

"Have you decided what you are doing?"

Lysithea glanced at the king, her eyes big and shocked. Arash had invited her and Edelgard to tea, and Claude was conspicuously absent. After yesterday, that did not surprise Edelgard in the least.

"Excuse me?" Lysithea asked curtly. Not the way she should address a king, but Lysithea was never one for courtesies.

Arash, it seemed, was amused. He did not look all that much like Claude, except for the way his hair swept from his face and the shape of his jaw. Perhaps Claude would grow into his father's broad features, but the man was rather big, and Claude was generally pretty slender.

Before the blood reconstruction, Claude had been rather muscular. She had noticed that from when they had trained together a few times. The muscles of his back, like any archer's, were incredibly defined. Now he was frail and skinny, and she worried for him all the time.

"I know you are considering staying here," Arash said. "My son told me. I will tell you now, you would have a place here."

"Oh." Lysithea blinked down at her teacup in a strange little daze. She still wore a veil over the back of her hair, though today it was red. She had been given a pair of new clothes from Minu, and Edelgard thought red suited the girl quite nicely.

Edelgard herself had also gotten new clothes, but she had determinedly asked for something that might suit a man. Her trousers were black, and they ballooned around her legs in an airy way. Her tunic was black as well, with lovely gold embroidery stitched lovingly across it. The robe she wore was red, and she wore a black sash.

"Honestly," Edelgard said gently, "it's okay with me if you stay with Claude, Lysithea. I do not need you for research to be done on Crests."

"But it would help if I was there," Lysithea murmured. "Right?"

Edelgard could not deny that. "Perhaps," she said hesitantly.

"Oh," Lysithea groaned, "I don't know _what_ to do!"

"It is a difficult choice to leave one's home," Arash said quietly. "Gertrude was not certain she had made the right choice until Claude was born. You will doubt yourself no matter what you choose, but do not be discouraged. There is no right answer."

Lysithea seemed unable to respond, and Edelgard took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She knew that Lysithea had promised Claude she'd stay with him, but things had changed now that they knew he was a prince. Lysithea did not need to protect him when he would be in a palace like this.

"If you don't mind me asking," Edelgard said tentatively, "how do you feel about the queen leaving?"

Arash glanced at her. His eyes were dark, but surprisingly warm when he was no dealing with a council full of angry lords.

"I do not mind," he said. "She is her own woman. I did not force her to come here, and I cannot force her to stay."

Briefly, Edelgard thought about how Claude had never once asked her to stay with him. How he'd always known, in his heart, that she would leave eventually.

"You must love her very much," Edelgard murmured.

"You do not know," Arash said simply. He sipped his tea, and the whiskers of his mustache glistened a bit. "If I'd had my way, I would have left this all behind for her."

"You would have?" Lysithea gasped, leaning forward eagerly. Edelgard had to smile. The girl was a romantic at heart. To be honest, Edelgard was too. She simply was enthralled by the idea that two enemy heirs had fallen in love and thrown caution to the wind for the sake of one another. It made sense that Claude was such a genuinely good person beneath all his scheming and lies. He had been raised by two genuinely loving parents, who had doted on him and cared for him more than anything.

Edelgard might have killed to have had that.

"Gertrude and I fought quite a bit on who would leave what behind." Arash smiled fondly at his cup. "She won, of course. She always does."

"She broke her father's heart," Edelgard said quietly.

"Ah." Arash shrugged. "He broke hers first. Perhaps he will forgive her now that all is said and done."

"Maybe…"

Edelgard was not so sure. She doubted Caius von Riegan would have much of a choice, considering the rest of his heirs were dead or dying.

"How is Claude doing?" Lysithea asked eagerly.

"He was sleeping," Arash said, "last I checked."

"I think he goes through periods where he will sleep a lot," Edelgard sighed, "and then not sleep at all. That happened to me at first, but now I just hardly sleep. What about you Lysithea?"

"What?"

"How do you sleep?" Edelgard had started writing down symptoms she knew of and how to treat them for Arash and Minu. "Nightmares, or…?"

"Sometimes." Lysithea bit her lip, and she glanced up at Arash guiltily. "I was much younger when this happened to me. I do not actually remember anything, so…"

"I understand," Arash said gently. "You need not explain to me, child."

"I can tell you what happened to us," Edelgard said, changing the subject as Lysithea bristled over being called a child again. "Claude does not remember, but I do. It is… not pretty."

Arash stared at her, and his warm eyes went cold as stone so quickly that she thought he might take the butter knife to his left and cut out her jugular.

"Go on," he said.

Lysithea looked up at her, curious and unsure, and she squeezed Edelgard's hand beneath the table.

"Well," she said, taking a moment to inhale deeply, "honestly, it did not take long. It _feels_ like forever, but I must have only been on the table for an hour. I was not the last one of my siblings to go into this room, but by the time I knew myself from the pain, I was the only one left."

Ulric, she remembered, died in her arms. She had not truly understood that at the time. By the time she had, she had been alone.

She paused to allow Arash to ask her questions, but he did not. He sat and watched her with a patient stare, though his eyes were as hard as a statue's. A part of her worried about telling a foreign king about the nature of Crest experiments, but she had already been told a few times that Crests did not exist in Almyra, and no one had a need for them to begin with.

"It starts with being strapped down," Edelgard said carefully. "I do not think it is for our benefit, but so we do not attack the people doing this to us. They were unrecognizable to me as a child, and they looked rather like monsters. Claude has had trouble describing who did it and how it happened, and I understand that. I would never be able to tell you what they looked like, but I know what they did. I was conscious of everything that happened in that moment. It was all the things that happened before that seem hazy now."

She rolled up the sleeve of her red robe, and offered Arash a look at the scars on her forearm.

"The way it works is that they mix our blood with the blood of someone else, and for me, they tried to counteract my body's natural defenses by assaulting my bloodstream with the foreign blood. It worked, but I was cut in too many places to name, and after the blood hit my system I was in a fit. It felt like fire in my brain spreading all through my body. The Crest I have, the Crest of Flames, feels like that sometimes. Like I am always on fire."

Arash's beard moved, as if his jaw was clicking from side to side, and he looked away from Edelgard sharply.

"Would this have been the same for Claude?" he asked quietly.

"I would imagine."

Edelgard glanced at Lysithea curiously. They'd never talked about what their Crests _felt_ like before. Edelgard's Crest of Seiros, it did not feel like anything. It seemed to be a natural part of her. Her Crest of Flames was an entity all on its own, a sentient thing that had hunger and had thirst and had needs. It would destroy her from the inside out with its burning desires.

"Neither of my Crests were natural," Lysithea said hesitantly. "I… do not know what I'm supposed to feel like. Most of the time I am very tired, and if I overexert myself, I grow weak and feeble. I think my Crests affect me in a very physical way rather than psychological, and it might be the same with Claude."

"I think it is both," Edelgard said softly.

Arash rubbed his mouth, the bristles of his dark beard brushing between his fingers, and he closed his eyes.

"I see," he said. "I believe I understand."

He pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly to the nearby window. Edelgard and Lysithea sat and watched him as he peered out of it. He stood there for a minute or so until a knock at the door startled him.

"Baba," Claude said, opening the door without waiting for an answer. He said something in Almyran, and then stopped in his tracks when he saw Edelgard and Lysithea. "Oh. I didn't realize—"

"No, no," Arash said, ushering Claude to the table. "Sit. How did you sleep?"

"Fine." Claude blinked rapidly as he was placed beside Edelgard. He avoided her gaze, and instead frowned at his hands while his father fretted over his white curls. "I did not realize what time it was."

"Do not worry yourself over such things."

Claude opened his mouth, ready to object, but Edelgard shot him a sharp glance that he met with furrowed brows.

"I'm surprised," Claude said, "that you've taken the time to meet my friends."

"Well," Arash replied, "they cannot be all bad if you've brought them here, hm? Would you like some tea?"

"No," Claude sighed, "thank you."

Arash poured him a cup anyway, and Claude looked down at it with a small, wan smile. When he glanced up at Edelgard, he tipped his head to the side and shrugged. Then he turned to his father and said something in Almyran that made the man pause.

He replied very slowly. Edelgard could only understand one word, which she believed to be an equivalent to "well," but she could not be entirely certain.

"Let's not be rude to our guests," Arash said stiffly. "Tell me about your time together. You said you were in a school, correct? Gertrude went there once?"

"Your mother was at Garreg Mach?" Edelgard murmured.

Claude smiled at her, and he shrugged again. "She and Judith got close there. Apparently they won the Battle of Eagle and Lion, but Judith never told me more than that."

"Judith," Arash said with a small snort, "is a difficult one. She never liked me much."

"Don't take it personally," Claude said. "She doesn't really like anyone."

"She liked you mother."

"Well…" Claude frowned. He glanced up at the ceiling, and waved his father off before speaking in Almyran again.

"Claude. Your friends cannot understand you."

"Sorry." He shot Edelgard an apologetic glance, and she shook her head.

"I don't mind," she said. "Speak however you want to speak."

That did not seem to comfort him, as his brow only knotted tighter together, and he looked up at his father tiredly.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Hm?" His father frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Mama is leaving." Claude leaned forward, searching the man's face intently. "How do you feel about that?"

"Oh." Arash blinked. His frown deepened, and then he shrugged. As Edelgard observed him, she realized that though Claude did not look much like him, their mannerisms were very similar. She could imagine a different life where Claude might grow older and fill out into the shadow of this man. "Well. Gertrude does as Gertrude does. I have never known her to be any different."

"But how do you _feel_?" Claude gasped. "Aren't you sad? Aren't you—?"

"Are you sad?" Arash asked.

Beside her, Claude went rigid. His eyes were big, and his mouth fell open, and she saw the struggle in his face as he tried to respond.

Edelgard placed a hand on his wrist, and she felt him relax like ice reducing to water in an instant.

"That is not a fair question to ask him," she told the man, the king, sternly. "You did not answer his question, so why should he answer yours?"

Arash's eyebrows shot upward as his gaze flickered to her. He laughed, and Edelgard resisted the urge to scowl and bristle like Lysithea might, because she knew she had to be mature if the man was going to take her seriously.

"Edelgard, was it?" Arash said her name wrong, but she could tell he was putting a lot of effort into saying it, so she smiled and nodded. "Do you often find yourself reading my son's expressions? You are quite good at it."

She found herself flushed and embarrassed as she pulled her hand from Claude's wrist. He was gazing at her, and she knew he wanted to hear her answer perhaps more than his father did. That was difficult. _He_ was difficult. She hated how she wanted to soothe him, how happy she was when he seemed to fall back into his old rhythms and become the Claude she'd loathed for months.

"I suppose if you travel with someone for long enough," she said, "they become less of a mystery."

"Speak for yourself," Claude said softly.

She shot him a sharp look, and he met it without reservations.

 _Why are you looking at me like that?_ Her eyes spoke what she could not, but if he could read her gaze, he did not want to respond to it. Instead, he turned his attention back to his father.

"She's right," he said. "You are avoiding my question. Are you sad?"

"Of course I hate to see your mother go," Arash said simply. "I would not be much of a man if I did not feel sorrow. Your mother has her reasons, though, and I always trusted her judgement. I always will."

"You two must love each other a lot," Lysithea murmured.

Arash smiled down at her. He nodded, but he said not a word.

* * *

"I'm so sorry."

Claude sat dazedly on a stone bench as he listened to the fountain's delicate stream of water. He watched Lale clamber onto the statue's lap, a twig in her hand, and she struck at the falling water viciously.

Lysithea sat next to him, her eyes downcast and her shoulders hunched. He thought she might be close to tears.

"I know," Lysithea continued after sucking in a deep breath, "I _know_ I said I wouldn't leave you, but— but if Edelgard's right, then maybe… maybe I would be able to save you, if I go back home. I've never tried to do Crest research before, but Edelgard swears that Linhardt is capable and smart, and… well, I've never seen it, but I trust Edelgard. I want to trust Edelgard. I think she really does want to save us."

"I think she does too," he said, as calm and offhanded as if they were sitting in the courtyard of Garreg Mach.

"Then tell me," Lysithea gasped. "Tell me if you're upset with me. Tell me that you are, and I won't leave."

He turned to face her. Her eyes were so big, and they were red around the rim, puffy and bloodshot and welling up with tears.

With a small smile, he placed his hand atop her head, and ruffled her feathery white hair.

"You're so silly," he told her gently.

She buckled under his hand, and he leaned forward so she could fall into his chest. He did not know if he'd ever really seen her cry before, and it felt like all the years of being strong and mature and too grown up for her age, all of that had weighed her down and now she could only expel it with a shaky sob.

As he wrapped his arms around her, she trembled and shuddered. He rested his chin against her hair, and he rubbed her back silently. He had known she could not stay. In truth, he was relieved that she had come to the conclusion herself, and he would not have to convince her that Almyra was the place that he was destined to die in, not her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I'm so sorry."

"Lysithea—"

"What's wrong with Owl?" Lale asked, appearing suddenly at his side. Lysithea stiffened at the sound of the little girl's voice, but did not look up.

Owl was what Lale called Lysithea, since she had given up trying to pronounce her name correctly. He still was not sure that Lysithea knew what Lale was calling her, as Lale said it in Almyran, but Claude thought it was cute.

"She's sad," Claude told Lale. "She does not want to go home."

"What?" Lale's face pinched up confusedly. "Why does she not just _stay_ , then?"

"It is not that simple."

"It seems simple." Lale placed her hands on her hips and scowled. "You and Owl and Del will all live at the palace with me and Mama. You and Del can get married, and then when I am old enough, we can all go see her country, and—"

"Okay," Claude said, cutting his cousin off sharply, "none of that. Del and I, we're not getting married. And Del is _definitely_ not staying here."

"But you _love_ her," Lale whined, "don't you?"

"It's not like that, Lale. Now can you leave us alone for a moment? Owl is very upset."

"Owl," Lale said, hopping up onto the bench beside Lysithea. She patted Lysithea's back gently. "Owl, don't be sad. Claude will not be sick forever, and we will all come see you. Tell her I said that, Claude."

Claude sighed, and he translated Lale's words carefully to Lysithea. Lysithea raised her head and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"Your cousin," she sniffed, "is… rather…"

"Annoying?" Claude offered cheekily.

"Sweet," Lysithea corrected. She hiccupped, and she laughed tearfully. "Oh… I don't want to leave you."

"I will be okay, Lysithea."

"You don't believe that."

He didn't. So he did not meet her eye. She knew she was right, and she gazed up at him with a tremulous smile.

"I will write," she promised.

"It is hard to write here," he admitted.

"Then I will visit," she said firmly. "I will come here once a year. Holst cannot deny me that. I will bring Cyril, too!"

"I don't know if he'd like that."

"He will like it if I help him like it," Lysithea said flippantly. "The Almyra you've shown me is nothing like the one he talks about."

"That's because he grew up very poor," Claude sighed, "and I am a prince."

"Edelgard grew up a princess," Lysithea snapped, "and she lived half her life in a cell. It's all perspective, Claude. I am going to change Cyril's. Just… do not die. Okay?"

"I'll try not to," he laughed.

"What are you two _saying_?" Lale gasped, prodding Claude with her twig.

"Nothing, Lale," Claude said in Almyran. "Don't worry."

" _Ugh_!"

Lysithea, Edelgard, and Claude's mother were leaving the following morning. Claude did not want to intrude on any goodbyes his parents were saying to each other, frankly, and Edelgard was off with Nader learning how to shoot a bow for some ungodly reason. Claude had wanted to go, but Nader had forbidden him due to the fact that his Crests seemed to love to react to archery, and nobody wanted him to pass out unexpectedly.

"Tell her I will play with her," Lysithea sighed.

"Are you sure?" Claude asked, smirking as Lysithea squirmed. "You know she will make you do something rather undignified, like jump into the fountain."

"Better me than you," she said, standing up.

So Claude watched as Lale dragged Lysithea around the gardens, which were not so green as they might have been a few weeks prior. He sat and watched, because it was all he really could do, and he smiled as Lysithea made leaves dance into life with some minor spells.

* * *

Archery, it seemed, took a lot more effort than she gave anyone credit for. She was certainly strong enough, and her aim was not terrible, but she could not quite get her stance right. Nader chided her for a few hours as she shot dud after dud, and they took a break to get a drink from the stream.

Edelgard hated water, so she did not wade into it like Nader did. Instead she cupped the water into her hands and drank greedily.

"So," Nader said, wading closer to her, "I've got to ask. You and Claude…"

She choked on her water, and nearly fell into the river.

"What?" she gasped. " _Why_ does everyone assume that?"

"Perhaps," Nader said amusedly, "because you traveled quite a distance for a boy you have no obligation to help."

"So did Lysithea," she pointed out heatedly.

"She is part of the Alliance," Nader pointed out. "She is a noble, and she has fought alongside Claude in numerous battles. _You_ are a mystery."

"I'm not." She closed her eyes as she shook her head. "I… sympathize with him."

"Uh-huh."

"I do!" Edelgard jumped to her feet. "I care about him, yes, but we are not romantically involved."

"Yet."

"What do you mean," she said exasperatedly, " _yet_? I am leaving tomorrow."

"Then you best tell him," Nader said with a wink. "It might make all the difference."

"Tell him what?" Edelgard demanded. She _knew_ what he was implying, and it made her feel a bit lightheaded. There had been enough joking, enough pretending, enough long looks that she had begun to suspect some things herself, but that was not Nader's business. "Tell him that perhaps if he was not dying, and I was not leaving tomorrow, and he was not the son of an enemy, then _perhaps_ … what?" She backed away from the river with a laugh. "No. I do not think so."

"You know how I knew?" Nader asked amusedly as Edelgard snatched up her arrows and her bow. "You and Gertrude are very similar."

She whirled on the man, fire in her eyes, and she sneered at him, "Excuse me?"

"Gertrude," Nader said brightly, "said the same thing to me. Well, a bit different, as Arash was not dying, but she said something similar. That if the world was different, she would have told Arash that she loved him in a heartbeat. You know what I told her?"

Edelgard stood there and stared at him expectantly.

"I said," Nader laughed, "that the world does not need to be different. People do. So if she loved Arash, then this was the only world she had to tell him so."

She stared at him, and she turned very slowly.

"I am not Gertrude," she said, "and I am not in love."

Nader laughed at her anyway.

All the way back to the palace, the conversation ate at her. She had been happily ignoring the issue for days, but now that she was leaving tomorrow she realized that the problem would not go away if she did. Claude would still be in Almyra, only she would not be able to talk to him. She feared what might happen when she could not see him. He would be alive in her mind, but he could just as easily be dead.

If he was dead, would she ever have closure?

So when she returned to the palace, she headed straight for Claude's room. She knocked once. Twice. He did not answer, so she poked her head in, only to find a small library of books strewn all over and not a Claude to be found.

She was not discouraged, though. She went to Arash's study, and she stopped to think for a moment before she realized that thinking would drive her insane. So she knocked on the door and waited.

It took a minute, but the door opened slowly, and Claude's bright eyes blinked at her in shock. Then he smiled.

"You look flustered," he said. "I take it Nader kicked your ass?"

"In not so polite terms," she said. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, puzzling on how to ask to come in, but Claude stepped aside for her before she could. She hurried into the room gratefully, and she flung her arrows and bow onto the floor.

"Wow," he said, leaning against his crutch as he pushed to door closed with his hip. "Bad day?"

She spun around and fixed him with a sharp, fierce look that made his thick, white eyebrows shoot upward.

"What?" he asked with a laugh. "Oh no, what did he say about me?"

"I need to ask you something," Edelgard said, "and I need you to be honest, because I cannot leave without knowing for sure. It has been bothering me, but… I thought if I ignored it, I could make it go away. It hasn't."

Claude's smile slid from his face, and he looked a bit concerned.

"Should I sit down?" he asked. He laughed, but he sounded nervous and dazed.

"If you want to."

He made his way to the seat he tended to occupy, which had a small mountain of white furs on it, and he lowered himself into it before setting his cane aside.

"Okay," he said. "What is it?"

Edelgard, who had hardly thought this far ahead, froze up as she opened her mouth. Once more, she was not entirely sure that she wanted to know the answer. It would be simpler if they did not talk about this. If they let it go, and moved on.

But she had come all this way with him, and she had to ask.

"Do you have feelings for me?" she asked abruptly. It was best, she thought, to just do it quickly. Like a knife through the heart, or a neck getting snapped. It seemed like the only way.

Claude sat there, looking up at her, and somehow his expression did not change. It did not shutter or pinch. He did not blush, or stammer, or laugh. He merely stared at her, unblinking.

"Yes," he admitted, drawing his hands over his knees.

She had thought hearing it would be better than not hearing it at all.

She had been wrong.

"Oh." Edelgard inhaled sharply. _Oh_ , she thought, _what have I done_? "Okay."

"Was there anything else?" Claude asked. "Did you want something? A lock of hair? An eye? A heart?"

"Stop." Edelgard held her hand up, her eyes fluttering closed. "Don't joke about this."

"Who is joking?" he laughed. "Edelgard, what did you expect me to say?"

"I don't know."

"Did you want me to lie?"

"I don't _know_."

"Then why did you ask?"

Her eyes flashed open, and she looked down at him. He looked small and sad, his face sunken and his eyes tired.

"You know I can't love you," she said, her voice catching in her throat and breaking apart as she spoke. "You must know that."

"Why do you think I didn't tell you sooner?" He smiled at her faintly. "Believe it or not, Edelgard, I am not entirely a fool. Besides, I never expect you to. It doesn't matter."

"Don't say that."

"What?" He laughed at her, and it was an alarmingly bitter laugh. "Don't tell the truth? Come now, Edelgard. Let's not pretend."

"I can't love you," Edelgard said firmly. "I won't let myself. But— you know, if things were different—"

"I do not want to imagine what my life would be," he said bitterly, " _if things were different_."

She did not know what to say. Was there anything to say? He had made it clear that he expected nothing from her. He did not need her to reciprocate, and it would be cruel to pretend to.

"Okay," she said. She stepped forward, and his eyes trailed after her feet as she stood before him and took his head in her hands. His white hair curled gently over his brow, and she pushed it back gingerly. His face felt warm beneath her fingers.

"Please," he murmured, reaching up and grasping her hands. "I do not need your pity."

"Why should I pity you?" she asked, blinking down at him. "You feel things fully, without reservation, and I envy that. I envy you."

"I do not need your envy either," he said, his smile small and twisted upon his lips.

"I do not believe you need anything from me," she said softly. "But I will give this to you anyway."

And so she leaned down, dragging his face upward as she did so, and she kissed him. It was a thoughtless thing to do, and he deserved better, but it was something she wanted, and she was not good about letting things that she wanted slip away easily. So she kissed him, holding his face as he gazed up at her with widening eyes, perhaps realizing that she was not doing this out of pity at all.

He laughed against her lips, and he laid his hands against her waist. His nose bumped against hers as he lifted his head a bit higher, deepening the kiss almost desperately for one breathless moment.

Then, without warning, he drew back.

His face was flushed and warm in her hand, and he did not look at her. His fingers pressed into her sides, and she wanted to kiss him again, but she thought if she did anything else her heart might betray her, and she might do anything to stay. And _that_ was not an option.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered.

She swallowed, tasting what she thought might have been the residual juice of a fig from his lips, and she shook her head mutely.

"Can we pretend," he said, "that this did not happen?"

"If you want to," she said. His fingers still gripped her waist, and she wondered if he felt just as confused as she did.

"I don't," he admitted. "This is for your benefit, not mine."

"Shut up." She had to laugh, because she did not know what else to do, and when she leaned down to kiss him again, he stood up. Her kiss landed on his collar, brushing the skin of his throat, and she jerked back when he laughed. "Don't laugh at me!"

"Don't kiss me again," he murmured, lowering his forehead so it pressed gently against hers. "For both of our sakes, just don't do it."

"For both our sakes?" She blinked up at him. "Speak for yourself."

"I am telling you," he said, "that if you are leaving tomorrow, you would be doing us both a favor if you didn't kiss me again."

She thought on it a moment. Then, she lifted her head and laid a kiss just below his eye.

"Why," she said, "would you think I would listen to anything you say?"

He gaped at her a moment, and then he burst into a bright, disbelieving laugh.

"You're evil," he gasped, his smile so big that she saw his teeth. "I can't believe you."

She decided, then, that he was probably right, and she wrapped her arms around his chest and laid her head against his shoulder.

"Claude," she said, "I am going to save you. So please, don't die until then."

"I don't know if I can promise that." He closed his eyes, and he lowered his head against hers. "I'll try. I really will."

"I suppose," she sighed, "if that is all I can get out of you, I will take it. You have always been difficult."

They sat down after that, extricating themselves from each other, and Claude began piling white furs on top of her.

"What," she sighed, "are you doing now?"

"Nothing." He smiled down at her. "It just matches your hair, that's all."

"It matches yours too."

That seemed to strike him, because he paused and lifted a hand to his head.

"Huh," he said. "So it does."

But his expression immediately broke out into a smile, despite everything, and he looked genuinely happy as he continued to bury her in furs.

He was, perhaps, one of the most dangerous people she had ever met. Because Edelgard would not let herself love him. But she knew an in instant that she could love him as easily as he smiled.

* * *

Claude was trying not to feel too defeated. After all, his strange, dreamlike crush on Edelgard had not been so much of a fantasy after all. Nothing could ever come of it, but he was relieved that it was out in the open now.

His father had come that night, pushed Claude's hair from his forehead, and bundled him up in furs. He was more affectionate than usual, but Claude thought it must be the sadness eating at him.

"It will be just us two," he said softly. "I hope you do not mind that."

"I don't." Claude had sat up, and he'd scooted a little closer to his father before leaning his cheek against his arm. "I… will die. That is a certainty. I'm sorry it will be so soon."

"You do not know it will be soon," his father had sighed. "Let's not speak of it. Why should it matter? You are my son, and you are here now. What is a day? What is a year? What is a lifetime? Any moment I get to spend with you is an eternity worth living. No so-called _Crest_ can take you from me."

Claude had closed his eyes, and he'd smiled as his father wrapped his arms around him.

He'd fallen asleep there, and the next morning he had to scramble to get ready. He threw on a kaftan, wet his hands in a fountain and smoothed his hair back, and then he walked as fast as he could with his cane down the stairs, through various corridors, until he found himself face to face with Edelgard.

She turned to face him, and her long white hair fluttered around her shoulders, unbound and shiny. The braids he'd done up for her the past few days were gone. She blinked at him, and he stared at her, and he wondered if that was all there ever would be. Silence and stares.

"All packed?" he managed to say.

"I believe so." She gripped her bag with both hands. "I did not have much to begin with."

"Well," he said, smiling, "I'm sure you're relieved to return home."

"Yes." She lifted her head high. "I suppose we may return just in time for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion."

"Beat Dimitri good for me."

Her eyes widened, and she smothered a laugh with her hand.

"Oh," she said, "I will. If only I had the privilege of beating you as well."

"I guess you'll have to dream of it," he said. "Imagine me fondly, will you?"

That did not make her smile. Instead, her face seemed to fall, and she turned away from him abruptly. Ah. So it would end like this. Both of them unwilling to admit that maybe another life was the one they were living.

It would not matter anyway. This life was longer for her than it was for him.

She turned to face him suddenly.

"Listen," she said, taking a step toward him. "Claude… I—"

"There you are!" Lysithea did not quite run, but she did scamper rather hurriedly to Edelgard's side. "Lale was yelling because you did not say goodbye to her, apparently."

"She's spoiled rotten," Claude said with a fond smile. "Don't hold it against her."

"Oh." Edelgard groaned. "Yes, of course. Silly me. Where is she? Please tell me Minu is there."

"She is." Lysithea gestured wildly behind her. "In the gardens. Better be quick."

"Thank you."

Edelgard shot Claude one last long look before she hurried off.

Lysithea's eyes trailed after her, and she turned to face Claude with raised eyebrows.

"Nope," he said.

"What?" Lysithea pouted. "But I'm the one who told you to tell her!"

"Lysithea," he sighed, "do you really want our goodbye to be about me and Edelgard?"

"Well, no!"

"Then come here," he said, opening his arms, "and shut up."

She did not stop pouting, but she did slink into his arms like a needy little cat, and he held her tightly while she collected his robe in her hands and buried her face in his shoulder.

"What am I going to do without you?" she mumbled.

"I don't know," he said, combing her fluffy white hair back from her forehead. "Live?"

"Claude…"

"I'm serious." He took her by the shoulders and stared down at her with a small, sad smile. "Go. Live. Be the brilliant little scholar I know you are. Okay?"

Her pink eyes were so big that he could almost see his reflection in them. He laughed and ruffled her hair, pulling her back into a hug.

"Claude!" she huffed. Her voice was muffled by his shoulder, but she did not squirm away from him.

"I love you," he said. "Take care of the others for me, will you?"

Lysithea sighed as he released her, and she straightened out her bangs with a tight frown.

"They're rather hopeless," she said. "You are not giving me an easy task."

"But who else could I trust with it?" he teased her. "Edelgard?"

"Point taken."

"What about me?"

They both turned to glance at Edelgard as she strolled in, Lale trailing after her with stars in her eyes. Claude imagined he would not hear the end of Edelgard's grace and ferocity from his little cousin any time soon.

"Would you take care of my Deer if I asked?" Claude demanded, laughing when she was taken aback.

"Is that a serious request?" She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together uncertainly, and as he continued to laugh at her, her face grew pink. "What are you laughing at? Stop it."

"I told you," he said, nudging Lysithea. Lysithea merely rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Edelgard, I wasn't serious."

"Lovely," she said dryly. She turned to Lysithea, her head held high. "Are you ready?"

Lysithea looked briefly panicked, and her eyes flashed to Claude's face desperately. It was difficult, he knew, because she had wanted to stay with him so badly. They had grown comfortable with each other, and he felt that she was his sister in all but blood, but she would not thrive here.

"It's okay," he said to her gently. "I'm okay."

With one last, desperate glance, Lysithea turned to Edelgard and she nodded firmly.

"I'm ready," she said.

Edelgard offered out her hand, and Lysithea took it. She turned to look at him, and there was something in her eyes like a question, like she did not know one way or the other, and she was looking to him for help. Like he had the answer she was looking for, but she did not know the words to ask for it.

"Claude," she said. "Will you…?"

"Don't worry." Claude smiled at her as best as he could. He knew that she saw through him, but habits were habits. "I'll be fine. I'm home, after all."

Her lower lip caught between her teeth as she studied him, quick to analyze, he was sure, the lies he placed at her feet.

Without warning, she stepped toward him, and he blinked as she lifted her head and took his face in her hands. She pulled his forehead down to hers, and glared up into his eyes fiercely.

"Please," she said, "do not let this kill you."

Then she released him, but not before laying a quick, chaste kiss against his hair. She stepped back and snatched up Lysithea's hand again.

"I will be back for you," she said, whirling away. Her silvery hair settled at her shoulders as she pulled Lysithea along with her. "Please be alive when I do."

"That's a heavy demand," he called after her.

"Then do not disappoint me!"

And just like that, they were gone.

Claude stood there, leaning on his cane, and he found himself at a loss.

Minu held Lale back as he turned his face into his palm, and traced the crease of his eye with his thumb. His fingers came back wet.

"Has my mother left yet?" he asked Minu in Almyran.

"I believe she is saying her last goodbyes to your father." Minu lifted her eyes to the stairs. "Best be quick about it."

Claude was hardly quick anymore, so he did not expect her to be there when he climbed the stairs and crossed the palace to his mother's room. She and his father shared a bedroom, but they both had a few personal rooms for their various hobbies. This was his mother's library. He knocked on the door and he waited, a knot in his stomach, as the loneliness gnawed at his heels.

His father opened the door, took one look at him, and he sighed.

Claude's smile lingered as he allowed his father to pull him into his arms. "It's okay, Baba," he said, rubbing his father's back. "She'll come home eventually."

"She did not say goodbye to you," Arash murmured into Claude's hair. "I love that woman, but she is as cold as winter when she is scared."

"It's okay."

"It is not." Arash took Claude's face in his hands, which were very large and very callused, and his eyes were hard and resolute. " _Never_ think that you deserve to be treated this way. Your mother may be hurting, but so are you, and she cannot face it. She loves you too much to realize that she has done something cruel."

"Baba," Claude said softly, his throat tight and his words wobbly, "what if I die before I see her again?"

His father did not respond. All he did was pull Claude too him so hard he crashed into the man's chest almost violently, and he let himself be held and squeezed until suddenly Claude was muffling a sob into the cool blue silk of his father's tunic.

* * *

They did not really interact with Gertrude on the ship. Edelgard was a bit too preoccupied with her fear of water to notice or care, and Lysithea stayed by her side more often than not. They distracted each other from the loss they were both feeling acutely.

Of course Lysithea had figured out that something had happened between her and Claude, though Edelgard could not say what it was exactly. It was not love, but it was something that she knew could have turned into love if she had spent too much longer with Claude. The worst thing was that Claude seemed to be so much more in touch with his feelings. He knew how he felt about Edelgard without any qualms about it. He'd been ready to die with those feelings held tight to his chest.

Edelgard knew she felt something, but she could not imagine dying with it lodged inside her heart, never explored or pried open.

Gertrude did not seek them out until they reached the Alliance. She wore a pair of black trousers and a yellow doublet, not unlike one that she had seen Claude wear not too long ago. Her auburn hair was half pulled from her face, and the rest of it fell in waves down her back.

"We will go to Derdriu," she said, her green eyes a strange mirror of Claude's. "I must speak to my father, and from there I will take you back to Garreg Mach."

"That's fine," Lysithea said. She plucked at the end of her skirt, looking a bit withdrawn. "Um… Your Majesty—"

"Goddess be good, girl," Gertrude sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Do I look like a queen here? No. Do not call me that again."

"Fine." Lysithea's jaw tightened defiantly. " _Gertrude_ , then. I have been wondering this since we left, but… when you said goodbye to Claude…"

"I didn't."

Lysithea's eyes flashed wide, and for a moment Edelgard truly feared for the woman's life. She stepped between them carefully.

"I'm sorry," Edelgard said, "but what do you mean?"

Gertrude glanced at her. She shrugged. "I did not say goodbye to him."

"You," Lysithea spat, "are a _wretched_ woman!"

She fled the cabin without much more of a fuss, thankfully. Edelgard, who was not so hot-tempered, took a deep breath. She turned back to Gertrude with tired eyes.

"May I ask why?" she asked.

"How do you say goodbye to something irreplaceable?" Gertrude sat down on a table, folding her ankle over her knee and sighing. "I could not face him, if I am being truthful. I thought if I looked at him, if I truly looked at him, I would not be able to leave. So I left without saying goodbye. He will understand."

"He might be dead before he can," Edelgard replied bitterly.

"Give the boy some credit," Gertrude said. "He is my son. He would never go down so easily."

Edelgard wanted to agree. She wanted to hope that the year that Claude had been given to live was a lie. More than anything, she wanted to save him and Lysithea, but she did not know if she could do that at the expense of her own plans.

She had already sacrificed too much on a whim.

But she wanted to do this for him anyway. She had not been able to save her family, but she could save Lysithea and Claude. Couldn't she?

"Well," Edelgard said curtly, "I hope you know what you are doing, Gertrude. Because Claude risked a lot to see you again, and if you've traded your goodbye for revenge—"

Then what? Edelgard could not even _blame_ the woman, because it made sense to her in the long run. Claude might die no matter what. Edelgard was not sure if she could help Gertrude with her revenge, but she would not actively try to stop her.

"So what if I have?" Gertrude seemed unrepentant. She stared at Edelgard with an arched brow. "Go on, princess. What will you do?"

"What can I do?" Edelgard asked sharply. "I am not the one who will have to live with it."

She left Gertrude with that, rushing back to Lysithea to calm the girl and wishing that she herself could throw a tantrum in response to Gertrude's infuriating logic. The worst part was, Edelgard thought herself capable of doing the same, if she was angry enough or desperate enough.

They returned to Derdriu on a rainy, cold afternoon. Edelgard kept Lysithea and Gertrude separated until they were forced to share a boat to the palace. Lysithea glared at Claude's mother the entire time, but Gertrude's eyes were on the water, on the sandstone buildings around her, on the bustling city folk doing their fishing and their selling. She seemed to soak up every ounce of the city hungrily, her eyes flashing around her like she could not quite get enough.

 _Oh,_ Edelgard thought, watching this woman become consumed by the sight of her former home. _Of course. Of course she would leave Claude without a goodbye. She left this city, her home, without a goodbye. She left her father and brother without a goodbye. And Claude would have left us without a goodbye too._

But a lack of a goodbye did not negate the overwhelming love that Gertrude seemed to have inside her. Edelgard saw it in her bright green eyes, which softened at the sight of a large, ornate bridge that yawned over them.

Gertrude von Riegan was not a woman who said goodbyes. That left her with a well of dormant emotions that came clawing back the minute the past came back to greet her.

The walk to the palace was longer in the rain. Gertrude noticed Edelgard lagging behind, attempting to shield Lysithea with her arm. The last thing she needed was the girl to catch a cold and die.

"You girls," Gertrude sighed, whipping off her black cloak and draping it over the two of them, "are hopeless. How did you travel all the way to the Bay by yourselves? No, don't answer that. I do not care that much. Come on, now. Pick up the pace."

It was the closest thing to kindness that Edelgard had seen from Gertrude, and it was sweet. In her own way.

Gertrude essentially barged into the palace. She announced herself boldly to the first servant she saw. They were ushered into a sitting room, and Edelgard immediately pulled Lysithea to the fireplace, helping her remove the soaked layers of outer clothing so she might get warm. Gertrude wrung out her damp and scraggly hair on an expensive looking carpet.

"It has not changed here," she said. There was nothing in her voice that suggested fondness or disgust. She merely tossed her hair over her shoulder and peered around her curiously. "I thought it might have, with Godfrey as heir, but…"

When neither Lysithea or Edelgard responded to her, she frowned a bit. She glanced at them, and observed Edelgard as she tried to rub the warmth back into Lysithea's hands.

"You don't have to do this," Lysithea murmured.

"My hands are cold too," Edelgard whispered back. "You're helping me more than I'm helping you."

"I… guess you're right."

Edelgard smiled. "Good girl," she said quietly.

"Don't call me _that_."

The door burst open, and Edelgard pulled Lysithea a bit closer. Caius von Riegan flew into the room, his eyes so big that they seemed to bulge from his skull. Edelgard feared he might have a heart attack as he stumbled to a stop and gaped at Gertrude.

"Ah," Gertrude said, turning to face him and placing her hands on her hips. "Father. There you are. Have you truly not thought to redecorate in nearly twenty years? Have you seen this carpet? It's not only ancient, but it is ugly. Duke Brutus von Riegan was never a man of taste, and yet he got to design half the palace. When I am Duke, we are redecorating."

"When you are—!" Caius choked, his face going rather red. "Gertrude, _what_ are you doing here?"

"I've come to take my son's place as your heir," Gertrude said, frowning. "Obviously. Why else would I come back?"

"Where is Claude?" Caius demanded. He sounded strangely concerned, which made Edelgard wonder what kind of introspective had happened in the few weeks since they'd left.

"He is home," Gertrude said. "Clearly. Where else would he be? Do you think a boy who has just found out he is going to die would want to spend the last of his days in a foreign country?"

"This is his home too," Caius said firmly. "He should have— I would have—"

"What would you have done?" Gertrude snapped. "What could you have done? He did not need you. He did not need me, either. He needed his father, and now he has him. Now, we have had a long journey, and tomorrow we will be off to Garreg Mach."

"Garreg—" Caius drew his hands over his head, and he seemed to wobble. "I see age has not done a thing to dampen your ambition, Gertrude. You truly do not know where to _end_."

"I do not see a point." Gertrude brushed past her father and moved toward the door. "Come along, ladies."

Edelgard and Lysithea exchanged a frantic glance. They hurried after Gertrude without a word.

"That went very well, I think," Gertrude said. Well, mostly she seemed to talk at them. Edelgard did not mind. Half of her was beginning to like Gertrude. "He did not scream at me, and he did not cry, so I think we've done rather well for ourselves. Oh, I will need to send a letter to Judith…" Gertrude tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Ah, well. I can do that at Garreg Mach. Oh, here we are."

They stopped outside of the room that had once been Claude's, and Edelgard felt Lysithea tug at her sleeve. She could only watch as Gertrude strode right into the room, completely unsuspecting of the residual essence of Claude that seemed to rise up from the floorboards. Gertrude stood frozen a moment, looking into the strange amalgamation of books piled on the floor and random herbs scattered on the desk, and she backed out of the room very slowly.

"Shall we find a different room?" Gertrude asked, as if nothing had happened.

Edelgard wondered if she would one day be able to bury her emotions so deep that grief did not startle her anymore.

Inevitably, the minute they actually found a different room, a servant came and stammered at Gertrude that her father wanted to speak to her.

"Does he?" Gertrude sighed. "Well, it is not late enough to pretend to be asleep. Alright, let's be quick about it."

"He also said," the servant gasped, glancing at Edelgard and Lysithea, "to give these to you two."

Lysithea was on her feet first, and she snatched the two sealed letters from the servant's hand.

"I might be a while," Gertrude said, not really looking at them. "You two amuse yourselves while I am gone."

The minute she was out the door, Lysithea kicked a pillow.

"Amuse ourselves," she huffed. "Does she think we are children?"

"I suppose compared to her," Edelgard said, "we are."

"I hate her." Lysithea plucked up the pillow she kicked, and she hugged it tightly. "I love Claude, but I hate his mother."

"I hate to admit it," Edelgard said, "but I am growing fond of her."

"Good for you. Do not expect me to act civil at your next tea party if she is on the guest list."

"Noted," Edelgard said with a laugh. She turned over the note in her hand, and she blinked. "Is this the Riegan Crest?"

Lysithea held up her own letter. Her eyes widened, and she flung the pillow aside with a gasp.

"This is Claude's handwriting!" she cried, snapping the seal without much hesitation. Edelgard waited patiently as she began to read, but it only took a minute for Lysithea's eyes to go very wide and watery. "I— Edelgard, can you…?"

"Yes." She took the letter from Lysithea, settling down on the ground beside her, and taking her hand. "It says: _Lysithea, I imagine you are angry with me, because I left without you, but I need you to understand that some journeys must be taken alone. If things were different, and I was different, I would let you remain by my side without hesitation. But the truth is, I don't know how long I have. It could be months, it could be years, and I can't have you wasting what time you have left keeping my company. Go live your life. Find love, invent new spells, travel the world, topple the status quo. Imagine all along that I am there beside you, and I am rooting for you with every step forward you take._ "

Edelgard stopped to take a breath. She released Lysithea's hand and pulled her close, stroking her hair as she gained her bearings and continued.

" _You might be wondering why I left. The truth is, I'm scared to die so far from home. I came to Fódlan to break the wheel, not reinvent it, and the truth is, I can't do that if I'm dead. So I won't waste my time. Not when I could spend that time with my family._ "

They both grimaced at that. Gertrude would never know or understand, that became clear. Lysithea buried her face in Edelgard's shoulder. Edelgard continued to stroke her hair gently.

" _Don't be sad to think of me. Don't think that you failed me, either. Live your life, and live it well, and never, ever let anyone tell you that you cannot do something. You are so strong, and you are so kind, and I…_ " Edelgard trailed off, feeling Lysithea shift and raise her tear-streaked face up at Edelgard.

"What?" she demanded. "What is it?"

Edelgard cleared her throat.

" _And I would be glad to call you my sister,_ " she said. " _Whatever you do, do it passionately, do it wholly, and do it without any regrets._ _Love always,_ _Claude._ "

"I hate him," Lysithea whispered, her lip wobbling as her eyes glistened. "If I ever see him again, I'll kill him myself."

They sat for a few minutes until Lysithea calmed down. She had her head in Edelgard's lap when she bolted upright.

"Wait," she gasped, "what does yours say?"

"Oh." Edelgard glanced at the letter. "I… don't know…"

"You have to read it."

"I don't _have_ to," Edelgard said, setting the letter aside. "Come on, let's go have a look at the library."

The truth was, Edelgard was frightened. She knew that the letter might affect her, and she knew _how_ it might affect her, so she set it aside. Until that night, when she rolled restlessly in her bed, thinking that Claude might be doing the same thing so very far away.

So she got up, struck a match and lit a candle, and she took the letter through the corridors until she found herself sitting among the piles of books on Claude's old floor.

It took her a long time. She turned the letter in her hand, peering at her name in Claude's messy handwriting, and she wondered what he had said to her a few weeks ago. She knew, of course, he had written this when he had assumed that he would be heading to Almyra by himself. She had not known about his family, or even that he was Almyran then. It seemed strange now, that she had not known.

With shaky fingers, she snapped the seal in half, and she carefully unfolded the pages.

_Dear Edelgard,_

_It's strange to write this. I don't think I imagined I would write you a letter on my way out, but I'm grateful I have the words to say this. I want you to know that you have surprised me. I think back on it, a few months ago, and I imagine you as this hilariously uptight ice queen. I wanted to make you mad. I wanted to see you irritated, because I liked riling you up. I thought we were playing the same game. I wonder if it was ever a game, or if it was, if I was even a player._

_I need you to know that no matter what, I appreciate your kindness. It was no secret that I was struggling, and you took it all in a stride. You empathized, and you recognized what I needed, and I cannot thank you enough for that. You are a sweet person. You hide it, but I see it. Don't hide too much, Edelgard. Once you put the mask on, it becomes hard to take it off. I know from experience._

_If you can, please remember me fondly. Remember me as someone who could make you laugh. Remember me like you might remember a summer storm or springtime frost. If you could carry me in your memory, perhaps I can live a little longer in you and in the world that you create._

_Don't forget me,_

_Claude_

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any questions, my twitter is [fissureking](https://twitter.com/fissureking)  
> and my tumblr is [reedroad](http://www.reedroad.tumblr.com)  
> title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47kVSgIoHmo)  
> 


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